Three Days Grace
by Tayhlia
Summary: Giving shelter to Payton Hawke when an unseemly event caused the rogue to leave Gamlen's shack had not been something Fenris could have predicted doing.
1. Chapter 1 Night One

**AN:** Owning Dragon Age would mean owning Bioware and if I owned Bioware I'd be rich and wouldn't be hunting for a job that will still give me time to write my wonderful fantasies…

Despite this Hawke being a rogue, Carver is alive; Bethany died. If you don't like it, well….ignore it.

* * *

_Night One_

It was pouring rain, more rain than Fenris was sure he had ever seen in his lifetime. The rain had started at some point the previous week and hadn't stopped; if anything it had gotten worse. His armor was still by the dying remains of the fire, attempting to completely dry from earlier that day when Hawke had dragged him out.

A simple job, Fenris still scoffed remembering the rouge's words when she asked him to come along. Killing some monsters infesting one of the old mines turned into killing some drakes and a mature dragon. He wasn't sure if Payton Hawke was clueless enough that she let them run into such creatures or if she knew and enjoyed the shock and horror that crossed their faces when they found the animal. They had been lucky. The rain had upped their odds against the reptile drastically seeing as the fire-breathing monster did not like the wet.

As the days pressed on and she continued asking him for his blade against beasts when that Guard friend of hers was unavailable, he was beginning to wonder if offering his assistance in her ventures had been a mistake, she had a habit of not fully thinking things through.

The sound of someone knocking on the door of the mansion caused Fenris to jerk from his thoughts, sitting up in alarm. His hand stole across the space, wrapping around the hilt of his greatsword. Could Danarius have traveled that swiftly? He had only been in Kirkwall a fortnight; could news of his presence have gotten to Danarius quickly enough that the man returned to Kirkwall?

Rolling to his feet, the elf spared a glance at his armor, knowing it would take far too long to put on. He cursed himself silently; he hadn't expected to be attacked so soon. For a moment Fenris wondered about running, sneaking out onto the roof and fleeing the way he had planned the first night he stayed. But he planned that with the idea that he would be armored, an armed elf dressed in nothing but a cloth tunic and leather leggings was a target.

The knocking had continued.

Slipping down the stairs, weapon at the ready, he snuck toward the window, hoping he could catch a glimpse of whoever was there. As he got closer to the door, Fenris heard a string of rather imaginative curse words in a familiar tone of voice.

Hawke?

True enough he could see her through the filthy window, looking at the path back to Hightown. He frowned before opening the door, keeping a secure hold on his weapon. If she was here to take him out in this rain at night she better have a damned good reason. When the door swung open Fenris found a smile tug on the corner of his lips. In the few seconds he had taken him to see her, she had given up waiting for him to answer and was currently kneeling, lockpicks in hand, posed to pick the lock on his door.

Arching his brow he stared down at her. "Hawke," Fenris greeted.

Payton looked up at him and straightened. "You are home," she hesitated. "Can I come in?" Her hands motioned to the foyer.

Blinking, Fenris stepped aside, flinching when she accidently touched him as she brushed by. Closing the door he turned to face her.

She was drenched. It looked as though she went for a swim and decided to bring half the lake back with her. Her braided hair had strands that seemed to have escaped the hold, sticking to her face and neck. Even in the dim light that shone through the windows he could see water droplets glisten on her eyelashes, framing the sharp blue eyes. The lightly tanned coloring of her skin was flushed causing the small smattering of freckles across her face to stand out.

"What are you doing here, Hawke?" The words were far more clipped than he had intended. She didn't seem to be offended by it, however, she simply ignored it, like every other time when Fenris glowered or complained about a decision she made.

For the first time since he met this irritatingly intriguing woman, she hesitated. "Well," Payton grimaced, fingering the straps of her backpack. "I kind of moved out of Gamlen's shack for a while," Flashing him a grin that Fenris was soon coming to recognize as the one she showed people when she was going to ask them for something, Hawke glanced toward the door leading to the main room. "Can I explain near the fire or something?"

He started to say no, wanting nothing more than to send the rogue on her way but she batted her eyes at him, giving him such a pouting look that he sighed and then nodded. Gesturing for her to lead, Fenris was rewarded by a genuine grin.

Her eyes lingered for a moment on the armor in front of the fireplace, flickering to his body and then back, a faint but shy looking smile tugging on her lips. Plopping down without preamble, Payton abandoned her backpack, scooting as close to the dying fire as she could.

"Here," Fenris managed to snap from his stupor, realizing that the embers probably provided her little heat. He scooped some of the remains of the cabinet he had broken a few days ago and placed the pieces in the fireplace.

"You're burning furniture?'

Part of him felt affronted at her tone, feeling as though she was slighting the fact he had little money to spend on firewood. Studiously ignoring her question, he reached for the book he last used to encourage the flames. Tearing a page out of it, he started to crumble the paper when he heard her cry out in an angry tone he had only heard her use in battle.

"HEY!" The book was wrenched from his grasp, the page tugged from his hand. "How could you!" Payton looked as though he had kicked her mabari. "Burning a book," she said it as though he had committed a great crime.

Books were just another piece of furniture left by the previous owner. His face twisted into a scowl, readying to bark out a reply when he saw the look on her face. Her fingertips were tracing the letters that pressed into the leather on the cover with reverence.

Understanding came across him a moment later. Hawke was an educated woman who had to abandon her life when the Blight came; when she left Ferelden she only had her family and the clothes on her back. Books to her seemed to give her fond memories, giving her eyes a sad longing look to them.

A feeling of inferiority swept across him as Fenris looked at her. What could possibly be housed in books to cause such respect? Bowing his head, Fenris looked away, trying to hide his expression.

"Sorry," she offered quietly. "I just," Hawke let out sigh, the book dropping to her lap. "I've had a bad day," Payton looked to the side, gazing at the wood as it smoldered, the embers trying to catch it on fire.

Sitting back, Fenris settled in, unsure if he should sit on the chair he usually occupied when she visited or if he should say on the floor beside her. The silence between them was not as awkward as he thought it could be. She was staring at the fireplace, a dark look crossing her face, her fingers still tracing the lettering.

"You mentioned," Fenris found himself talking unexpectedly. Payton looked at him, setting the book and the page aside so she could bring her knees up to her chest. "That you moved out of your uncle's house,"

If anything the look on her face got heavier, her arms tightening their hold on her legs. For the first time since he met her, she seemed unusually small and vulnerable. "Yeah," Hawke bit her lip. "It was a little…sudden," the word was laced with bitterness.

"And you came here because?"

At first it seemed like she wasn't going to answer, her eyes turning back to the flickering flames of the fireplace. "To ask a favor," she finally said. "Can I," Payton hesitated, her eyes found his and he was surprised to see the fear in them. "Stay here for a little while?"

Fenris blinked, his mind turning rapidly with questions. "Why here?" was the first query he settled on. "Why not with the guard you are friends with? Why don't you go to that elven blood mage girl or to the abomination?"

"Aveline sleeps in the barracks, she won't get her own lodging until she finishes training for Captain," Payton responded softly. "Merrill lives too close to," An unmistakably hard look entered her eye. "My family," Fenris frowned, wondering the cause of such an angry look. "Anders would never let me stay there, he'd turn me over to my brother before I could even dry off. It was here or the Chantry," she reasoned. "Not much of a choice to honest,"

He didn't know why her words put him off so much. It wasn't as though he ever invited anyone over. Fenris had purposefully kept to himself as much as possible, only visiting the Hanged Man when the dwarf or Hawke harangued him into going. They were the only two people who ever sought out his company beyond the jobs, invading his home to drag him out to drink or play Wicked Grace with the group. Occasionally Hawke would walk him back and they would share a bottle of wine and talk but that had only happened a few times.

Suddenly her flustered voice broke through his thoughts. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, I'll just go." Payton was shifting, reaching for her pack.

Fenris looked at her and then something on her pale white leg caught his attention. The brown leather skirt of her armor rode up when she moved, revealing something that stilled his blood. "Hawke," he growled, his mind racing at how she could have gotten the bruises forming on her leg that looked suspiciously like finger marks.

Payton glanced at him and then followed his gaze. Her cheeks flushed and she covered the bruises with her hand. She started to get up, obviously intending to leave but Fenris couldn't help but stop her. He had seen bruises like that before all too often while he was a slave. Something in him felt furious, how dare someone attack Hawke like that.

"It's nothing," she tried to pull away from him but he held her fast. With a huff, Payton sat back down, pushing the wet strands of hair out of her eyes. "Would you believe I ran into the edge of a blunted table?" She paused as though realizing there was more than one mark. "Multiple times?"

He said nothing, holding her eyes with a look of steel. While Fenris had yet to determine how good of a liar the rogue was, it was painfully clear that she wasn't even trying to deceive him; almost as though she had conceded that she had to tell him.

"Gamlen came home a little drunker than usual," Her head was bowed, words soft. "It's nothing, Fenris."

Without meaning to his marks flickered, something in his gut turning. Would family really do such a horrid thing? He wanted nothing more than to march to Lowtown and kill Gamlen for daring to touch her like that. Payton had moved again, readying to leave, really believing that he would throw her out just like that.

"The next room." Fenris blurted a little too sharply and a bit too fast. She stilled. "It has a bed and a fireplace if I remember correctly," Hawke looked at him with an unreadable expression on her normally animated face. "Stay as long as you need,"

Her eyes shut, shoulders sagging. The relief that flooded her face caused a warm feeling to spread through him. "I'll just go there now," Payton said choppily. "Get out of your way," The rogue was on her feet and by the door before Fenris could react, reminding him how quickly she could move. She paused, looking back. "Thank you, Fenris."

* * *

Slipping into the room he had offered her, Payton dropped her pack to the floor and leaned against the wall. Closing her eyes she tilted her head back, thanking the Maker that Fenris let her stay. She really hated the Chantry and going back to the shack was not an option, not tonight.

Flexing her hands into a fist, Payton couldn't help but wince. Unbuckling the straps, she eased the bracer off, dropping it and her glove aside onto a dusty table. A grimace passed her face when she saw the bruise that was forming on the minor swelled joint. Her mind flashed to earlier that night, her struggle, how her wrist had slammed against the post of the bed, aggravating the injury she had obtained earlier that day fighting the stupid dragon.

Giving her head a firm shake, she turned to the room. A bed or more specifically a mattress was in the corner of the room leaning against the wall. It was clear that this room once was a guest room of some sort but most of the furnishing had been striped. Hawke vaguely wondered if he had burned them or sold them but brushed the thought away.

Payton walked toward the mattress, deciding the first thing to make the room livable was to put the bed on the ground and drag it closer to the fireplace so she could stay warm. It was heavier than she thought as she tugged it. Using the wall as support she inched it along, primarily using only one hand as the other gave an angry throb of pain each time she tried to use it.

Halfway down the wall the mattress started tilting the other way. "No," she squeaked, trying to stop it from toppling over. A short burst of agony from her wrist caused her to reflexively drop the mattress. "Ow," Payton hissed, leaping back before the mattress hit the floor with a thud.

"You could have asked for help." The deep brogue caused goosebumps to run down her arms but the words made her to shoot him a petulant glare.

Clutching the aching arm to her chest, she counted backward from three, trying to push the pain away. Fenris walked toward her; setting the wood he carried by the grate of the fireplace. He was staring at her again. Payton tried to ignore it, releasing her hand and making to grab the mattress to pull it on the floor.

His hand suddenly tangled with hers, lifting the injured wrist up so he could see it better. She wasn't sure if the blush that spread on her face was from embarrassment over the sprained joint or because she liked him touching her.

For a moment he merely looked at it, a multitude of emotions flashing across his face, the primary one being anger before his eyes settled on looking at her in the eye. "Why haven't you reported him to Aveline?"

Her own bubble of anger and frustration mixed with shame colored her. "Nothing happened," Payton insisted.

The arch of his brow almost amused her, as though he was saying in one look 'pull the other one, it has bells.'

Sighing she bowed her head. "Really, I stopped him before he could do anything," Stopped him seemed somewhat of an understatement as she had nearly taken a few of his fingers off when she managed to get hold one of her knives.

Fenris peered at her in that intense way he looked at everything, as though he was trying to get a read on her, ascertain if she was telling the truth or if he trusted her word enough to believe her. It was almost endearing.

Suddenly, as though he just realized he was touching her, Fenris released her hand. His own head bowed, hiding behind the strands of shock white hair. "Perhaps you should see about starting a fire, I will position the mattress where you wish."

Hawke blinked, surprised at his offer but thankful nonetheless. Stepping aside, she watched him move forward, unintentionally appreciating the way his lack of armor accented his muscular physique. Sharply shaking her head, Payton quickly turned to the fireplace, pleased to see it was cleaned out and ready.

"If you could just pull it a few feet from the fireplace that'd be fine," she asked kneeling down to put the kindling in. Taking the dusty flint, it took Payton a few tries to get the spark to catch.

Wordlessly he positioned the bed with an ease that she envied. Like Carver he was undoubtedly stronger than she and, while she had struggled with the mattress, he was able to tug it into place with a few sharp yanks.

"I shall see if I can find a blanket," Fenris said heading toward the door and disappearing before she had a chance to thank him.

Blowing a strand of hair out of her eye, Payton turned to her bag, removing her other bracer and glove as she went. She was more than relieved to see the items inside had remained dry; staying in soaking wet armor for hours was not comfortable. Sitting down on an unadorned chair, she worked at the buckles and laces of her boots. She had managed to remove one of the knee-high shoes by the time Fenris reappeared.

He hesitated in the doorway and Payton was instantly aware that she was flashing him a rather long stretch of her leg. Normally she would take it in stride, traveling with men as well as fighting to be one of them had dulled her modesty but so soon after what Gamlen tried to do she found a pulse of fear run through her.

As though somehow sensing her discomfort, Fenris moved, tearing his eyes away from her and walking forward, the blanket held out almost as an offering. "This is all I could locate," he said formally.

Payton took the blanket with a grateful smile. "I wouldn't say no to some of that wine you have," she tried to ask without asking.

There was a spark of amusement in his mossy green eyes and he gave her a small smile that caused warmth to spread through her gut. He gave a sharp nod and swept out. Payton closed her eyes, trying to ignore how much she liked seeing that smile on his face.

With a firm shake of her head, she removed her other boot, placing both near the hearth. Shutting the door, Payton quickly discarded her armor, laying the pieces on the grate or stone near the fire. The linen pants felt somewhat odd if she was to be honest; so often she was in her leather armor that cloth was a nice but strange change. Similarly the white long sleeve tunic was pleasantly dry and airy on her skin.

She opened the door and offered Fenris a smile as he came up the stairs carrying a few bottles in his hands. Payton came to his aid, taking two of the bottles from him and following him to his room. Like before, she made herself comfortable on the floor by the fire, forgoing her usual seat on the bench.

Fenris watched her, an amused and slightly bewildered look on his face.

"I'll let you in on a secret," Payton said conspiratorially as she worked the cork out of one of the bottles. "I hate sitting on benches. Chairs I don't mind," the cork gave way with a soft pop. "But even then I prefer the floor," she set the cork aside. "Easier to get up in a hurry," Her mind flashed darkly to Gamlen. She had been sitting on the bed making notes in her journal about the plans for the Deep Roads when he had come in.

Fenris watched her take a long sip from the bottle. She swallowed and held it out for him. After placing the other bottles along the mantle, Fenris took the open bottle and sat down next to her, leaning his back against the chair he normally sat in. "I suppose the ability to get up in a hurry would depend how armored you are,"

Payton looked at him quizzically.

"I imagine your friend Aveline would find getting up from the floor in a hurry quite a feat," Fenris offered the bottle back to her after drinking.

A soft giggle bubbled out from her lips. "True," she agreed taking another swig. "She hates sitting on the floor even when she's not in armor." Letting out a full laugh, Payton grinned. "She got stuck once," Wagging her eyebrows at Fenris, she admitted only to herself how much she loved the soft look that came across his face. "I kid you not," she took a drink. "She sat down to talk to a kid on the docks just after we arrived in Kirkwall. When the kid ran off, she tried to get up but couldn't. Her damned armor wouldn't let her. Full armor, plate," Payton made a face. "I hate plate armor,"

He accepted the bottle from her. "As a rogue plate armor would be impractical,"

"Ugh, can you imagine trying to sneak up on someone in plate armor?" Hawke smiled at the image in her head. "Terrible," Fenris handed her the now half empty bottle. "What is this stuff?" she asked looking at the seal on the bottle for some indication of what was within before taking another drink. "It's not bad,"

For the last couple times she had visited the two of them had experimented with trying the various wines the previous owner had left in the cellar. The wine from the Anderfels was not very good and, if she was being honest and comparing it to the others she had tasted, neither was the Ferelden wine.

"Antivan," he responded when he looked at the seal.

"I don't know how you can remember all the different seals," Payton said shaking her head. "Dwarves, elves, Ferelden, Orlesian, too many symbols to keep track of," She happily finished the bottle, only slightly ashamed at how quickly they went through it. The buzz in the back of her mind and warmth spreading from her stomach out was pleasant though.

Sensing she wanted more, Fenris handed her another bottle. "Orlesian," he answered before she could even ask.

Fumbling with the cork, Payton wondered if the alcohol in the first bottle was getting to her more than she thought. Wordlessly he helped, handing her the open bottle and watching as she took a sip. This time she savored the taste, allowing it to flood her senses.

"Can wine be considered sweet?" she asked after swallowing. She was rewarded with his deep chuckle that sent a shiver down her spine.

"I've never heard wine described like that," he admitted.

Payton watched him drink from the bottle. "Orlesian wine is strange," she decided after her second sip. She took another drink before setting the bottle aside. "The texture of it is so," Quirking her lips she thought for a moment. "Smooth, velvety,"

"I'm sure the Orlesians would enjoy the compliment but tell you that unless it tastes of despair it is worthless,"

She made a face, pulling her braid over her shoulder. "Are you serious? Who would want something that tastes of despair?" Payton tugged the blue-dyed leather strap that secured her hair out. "Isn't despair an emotion? Can you taste an emotion?" Deftly unbraiding her hair, she rambled on. "Besides, if you can taste emotion wouldn't you want to taste something better like, happiness or excitement?" She shook her head, enjoying the feel of her loose hair. "I mean I suppose I could understand a self-loathing taste, sometimes people really just drink to hate themselves but despair sound silly,"

Drinking a long sip, she smiled to herself as her brain continued the train of thought silently. Orlesians were weird. Payton paused when she started to take another drink. Fenris was staring at her. She blinked. He wasn't staring at her he was staring at her hair. Understanding dawned a second later; he had never seen her hair in anything but the single braid that she often twisted up on itself; in fact most of her companions beside Aveline had never seen her hair down.

"I promise my hair won't come alive and attack," she mused, smiling to herself when she saw the tips of his ears turn pink. "Most people don't realize how long it is since I always keep it up and away from my face,"

"I apologize for staring,"

Shrugging, Payton scooted away from him and then laid down, her hair haloing around her providing a damp but comfy cushion against the stone. "I forget sometimes how few people in Kirkwall have seen me as anything but a mercenary. Growing up, mother loved trying to make me look like a proper girl, not that it succeeded,"

"Proper girl?"

"Dresses," she wrinkled her nose. "Skirts, ribbons, she tried it all. Took her until I was ten to realize that it didn't matter how she dressed me up, I was still going out to play with swords anyway."

Fenris laughed. "I have a hard time imaging you in such clothing, Hawke."

Rising up on her elbows she looked at him. "I can be girly if I have to be," Goosebumps ran down her arms when his green eyes danced over her with mirth. "What; don't believe me?" Payton shot him a playful pout taking the bottle and drinking. "Thank you for the libations, good ser. It was so kind of thee to take me in, be a dear and remove the dead body from the foyer, it brings down the atmosphere so." She was unable to hold the snotty enunciation when the look of incredulous disbelief crossed Fenris' face. Payton laughed, falling back down and staring at the ceiling.

"That accent was ridiculous,"

Giggling, she enjoyed the warm giddy feeling that was spreading through her thanks to the wine. "Thank you, thank you," she mocked. With a heavy sigh, her jollity bled away. "I'm just not the daughter mother wanted. Bethany was closer. She enjoyed the dresses and she was gentile, made me look like a blundering oaf," Payton bit her lip. "Sometimes I wonder if mother wished I died instead of Bethany." Huffing, she sat up and took the bottle. "I know Carver does," she muttered.

His brow was furrowed at her and she wondered if he would say what he was obviously thinking. The first couple of visits she had made, he would sit looking at her the way he was now but refused to speak unless she dragged it out of him; remnants, she supposed, from the years he spent as a slave.

"From what I've seen," Fenris said finally. "Your brother cares for you a great deal,"

"In his own way, I guess. He'd be much happier if I wasn't around." She took a long swig, barely tasting the wine before swallowing. "That way he could shine outside my shadow," Payton bit. "Apparently he gets lost in it," Her mind absurdly pictured Carver literally getting lost in her shadow. Giving her head a shake, she moaned. "I think I drank too fast,"

Fenris eyed the nearly empty bottle in her hand and the one she had downed before that but wisely said nothing. Rubbing her head with her hand, Payton stretched, idly wondering how the wine could have affected her so quickly.

"I think I should go to bed before I pass out." She pushed herself up, wincing when she applied too much pressure to her wrist. Payton teetered before steadying herself. "Next time, drink slower." Blinking she realized that Fenris was standing now, when did he stand up? "Thanks for the wine," She winked at him. "And the room,"

He shifted uncomfortably.

"Good night, Fenris." Payton whispered before staggering off to the bed he had helped her set up. Haphazardly wrapping herself in the blanket he found, she was asleep before she hit the mattress.


	2. Chapter 2 Day One

**AN**: Thank you everyone for your reviews, favoriting, and following! I will be posting a chapter every three days. I appreciate your thoughts, opinions, and the simple knoweldge you've read (and like) my work. Without further adieu...

* * *

_Day One_

A loud clap of thunder was what awoke him the next day. Groggily, Fenris opened his eyes, staring blearily at the window and the rain beating down on the glass. Would the damned rain ever stop? He wondered blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

Sitting up, Fenris stretched. Another day trapped in the blasted estate unless he dared go outside. Getting to his feet, he ambled to the cabinet in the corner where he stored what meager food supplies he had. He was running low on the food Varric had given him and had yet to buy more. Sorting through the items he snagged the remaining apple and a loaf of bread. Seems that buying food would be something he needed to do soon, by next week he'd be out.

Absently, he walked to where he hid his coins. After being on the run so long and stealing what food he need, the idea of purchasing it was surreal. He had only gotten halfway there when he heard a noise.

Fenris stiffed and put the food down, stealing over to his weapon, glancing at his armor near the fireplace. Something caught his eye causing him to momentarily forget the sound. Kneeling he picked up the blue piece of leather and turned it over in his palm, trying to remember where he had seen it before.

Memories from the previous night rushed back. Standing, leather and weapon still in hand, he left the room, giving the manor a hesitant once-over to insure there was no danger. The door to the room she was in was open a crack. Peeking through, Fenris saw that she was awake; righting the table she apparently knocked over.

Two blue eyes were suddenly on him. "Morning," she called putting the things that had been on the table back.

He pushed open the door, taking her greeting as permission. Hawke was still clothed in the cloth ensemble, the white tunic now tucked into her pants rather than free like the night before. Her hair was cascading over her shoulders, the brown locks forming bouncing waves and loose curls. Fenris was surprised at how he wished she would wear her hair like that more often.

"Do you take that thing everywhere, or do just like showing your big sword off to me?"

Fenris felt his ears burn. If the pirate woman was there, she would have said such a thing because of the double meaning, purposefully trying to embarrass him but with Hawke he actually believed that the innuendo was accidental.

She was smiling as she laced her boots, insuring the pant leg was secure before tying them. "My head feels like crap," Payton announced to him as though it was a good thing. "Do you have any water? That Orlesian wine left a funny taste in my mouth,"

Stepping aside, Hawke took the hint and went toward his room. Fenris leaned his weapon on the wall and pointed her toward the basin and pitcher he had filled the previous morning. He hated fetching the water from the pump outside so he had brought a barrel of it up as well.

Part of him realized he was staring, watching her splash water on her face, flipping her hair out of the way. She cupped her hands and sipped. When she finished she turned to him, her face somehow brighter.

"I'd say you're unusually stoic this morning but I think this is the first time I've actually seen you in the morning," she stated running her fingers through her hair. "Have you had breakfast?" A slow shake of his head was all she needed. "Do you want me to pick you up anything? I hadn't gotten around to packing any food supplies in my bag and going out more than once in this weather sounds unpleasant," As though to emphasize her point there was a crash of thunder loud enough to rattle the windows.

Fenris hesitated. He did not want her going out in this weather at all if only because the closest food store that would remain open at a cheap price was back in Lowtown. "I have food enough for the both of us for a few days."

Hawke blinked, staring at him. At first, the nervous feeling he had turned into offense, thinking she was going to refuse because somehow his food wasn't good enough for her but then he realized that she was wavering because she didn't want to take advantage of him anymore than she already was.

"Here," He broke the loaf of bread in half and handed her the larger piece. His hand hovered over the apple for a second, not sure if he wanted to give her one of the few pieces of food he could honestly say he liked. Deciding to buy twice as many apples as Varric had given him when he went for food, he handed her the red fruit.

She looked at the offerings and a soft smile bloomed on her face. Taking the food she straddled the bench, setting the bread down but keeping a hold of the apple. "I love apples," Hawke confessed pulling a knife from the sheath hidden in her boot. "My father always said it was like eating a piece of the heavens,"

Sitting in his chair, Fenris watched as she cut the apple in half, not vertically like most but horizontally.

"A star," she declared happily holding out one of the halves.

Confused, Fenris stared at her. "A star?" he repeated puzzled.

"Look," she insisted. Leaning forward he glanced at the apple and then blinked in surprise; in the center of the apple where the seeds were sat a star. Payton put the piece in his hand and settle back on the bench. "I was five when my father first showed me that," She bit into the other half, closing her eyes, obviously enjoying the crisp flavor.

"I have never seen an apple cut like this before," Fenris mused before trying to give it back to her.

Shaking her head she gave him a smile that, if he was honest with himself, he was beginning to enjoy seeing. "Yours," Hawke insisted. "I refuse to eat the heavens alone,"

Despite himself, Fenris chuckled. As she ate the apple, Fenris found himself watching her. With each bite her face seemed to take on a new expression, as though each piece really was a slice of heaven to her.

"You have no idea how much I'm enjoying this," she professed. Silently he objected. "When running from the Blight we had very little to eat,"

Fenris looked at her questioningly.

"Carver and I had run been on the run for what felt like forever already," The lighthearted look she had darkened for the briefest of seconds. "We had gotten separated on the battle field at Ostagar. Whatever Carver may say, I thank the Maker he stayed until we found each other; else I might still be there," she reasoned. "I'd never have left without him,"

Hawke savored another bite. "By the time we got home to Lothering the darkspawn were less than a day away. We only had enough time to rest for the night before they attacked. Mother and Bethany a wagon prepared but when the darkspawn hit there was no time." Shaking her head, she nibbled the apple. "At that point the only food beyond wild berries Carver and I had had was a loaf of bread and some stew when we stumbled home the night before,"

He remembered all too well the empty feeling in the pit of his stomach when he was on the run, scrounging along the road for food and having to make do with berries, leaves, and whatever game he could catch.

"You know about Flemeth, right?" she asked abruptly. Fenris nodded. "Not Varric's version," Payton countered. "But the real story,"

"She changed into a dragon and killed a mess of darkspawn and in exchange for getting you to Gwaren safely you delivered an amulet to the Dalish?" he ventured.

Carver had once spoken about it at the Hanged Man when he was pissed drunk. He had rambled about an ogre and the third Hawke sibling, laying blame at his feet, the darkspawn's feet, but mostly heaping it onto Payton.

Hawke nodded. "Well, she basically fried any darkspawn we encountered but would disappear for days. We walked all the way there. The game had cleared away, frightened by the darkspawn." Fenris watched her lick her fingers after she finished the apple, desperate to enjoy every last bit of it she could. "A large part of the berries and plant life was poisoned by dead darkspawn or burnt away. By luck we came across an overturned merchant's cart filled with grain. It was rough and horrid but food nonetheless. Though, I swear, if I never eat grit again I'll die a happy woman,"

"When we reached the docks at Gwaren we had to barter passage and were forced to eat moldy bread and gruel until we reached Kirkwall." Breaking off a piece of the bread, she nibbled it. "If it wasn't for the Red Iron we probably would still be living on that with how Gamlen gambles away his paycheck," Her face darkened.

At the mention of her uncle's name, Fenris tensed, recalling exactly why she had come to stay with him.

"Anyway, the first bit of money we could spare," Hawke brightened again. "I bought us all the best meal I could. Carver and mother loved having fresh meat that night; first time in ages that we had something that wasn't salted. I," A dreamy smile was on her face. "I loved the apples,"

Fenris held out the apple she had given him. "You may have it if you wish," part of him hoped she would take it just so he could watch the look on her face as she ate it.

Shaking her head, Hawke refused. "I wasn't telling you because I wanted that piece back. I was just talking." She gave him a cheeky grin. "I do that a lot,"

To be honest, Fenris was beginning to mind her rambling less and less; it was endearing in an odd sort of way. Her freedom to talk about whatever came to her mind was refreshing and often brought amusement at the paths her mind took.

A comfortable silence settled over the two of them as they ate. She finished before him and was playing with her hair and staring at the dying fire, a deeply pensive look on her face. Fenris couldn't help but watch her, mesmerized at how her fingers ran through the hair, working out the knots with practiced ease.

Hawke then straightened looking at him. "Do you have my hair tie? I couldn't find it with my things this morning. I used to lose them all the time, I thought I had gotten better but," she shrugged.

Fenris spotted the item in question on the table where he must have dropped it after returning to the room. She smiled her thanks and picked it up. Her fingers flew through her hair, twisting strands over each other and soon a braid formed, snaking its way from the back center of her head down. Securing the end with the blue-dyed leather, she met his gaze.

"Do I pass inspection?" she teased.

His ears burned, realizing that once again he had been staring at her. Fenris was unsure what to do; he never had a guest stay before. Varric had come over a few times, mostly to drag him out to the Hanged Man and the dwarf rarely remained for more than a few minutes. Hawke had a habit of coming by and keeping him company for an hour or two and then leaving. Having her there longer seemed decidedly odd.

After several minutes of silence, Hawke stood. "I'll get out of your hair," she stated. "No need to interrupt whatever you have planned for today," Thunder crashed outside, causing them both to look at the window which was getting pelted with water. "Thank you for breakfast," Payton said with a smile. "And thanks again for letting me stay,"

Fenris watched her walk from the room. It felt strange knowing she was in the room next to him. The last time he had been in a house with another person was when he was still as slave. Living with the Fog Warriors they resided in tents and makeshift huts and until Kirkwall he had been constantly on the run. Most nights had been spent sleeping on a roof, in a tree, or wherever else he could find that was out of sight.

Standing, he went to his armor and began strapping it on. He was chagrin to realize that part of him wondered what Hawke would be up to. Fenris was becoming increasingly disturbed at how much of his thoughts were being consumed by the rogue next door.

* * *

Tossing a few of the scraps of wood Fenris had brought last night into the fireplace, Payton relit the embers, enticing a nice little flame to grow. The warm light bathed the room, brightening it ever so slightly.

Turning she searched for a candle to add more light. With both windows shining grey into the room due to the storm, she hoped to find another source of light.

In the corner near what probably used to be a bedside table she spotted an oil lamp, glass circling it. Edging around the shards, she picked it up, examining it carefully see if it was still useable. Pleased to find the only broken part was the chimney, she set it on the desk. Using a thick splinter from the 'firewood' Payton lit the lamp; smiling at the glow it gave the room.

Fishing her journal out from her pack, she settled at the desk. Before Gamlen had attacked her, she had been going over details for the Deep Roads. She hadn't told anyone yet but with the money from yesterday's job and the sale of the dragon parts she had raised the last of the funds she needed for the Deep Roads.

Turning to the page she had left off on, Payton picked up her graphite pencil. In one of the many talks she had had with Varric, the dwarf informed her that there was enough room for her to bring two people beside herself. When Carver heard that, he practically ordered her to take him while their mother loudly objected.

Leaning forward, readying to write, Payton froze. Her finger traced the mark that stretched across the page. She had been in the middle of writing when _he_ had grabbed at her, causing the pencil to jerk, marking the paper with a jagged line.

Pressing her lips into tight lines, Hawke glared at it. She had thought he was joking around when he seized her arm. He had been angry when he found that she had moved the stash of spending money, trying to hide it from his greedy mitts; stormed off in a huff and she hadn't seen him until when came home smelling of ale and vomit.

Giving her head a firm shake, she tried to focus. Deep Roads, Payton repeated. She needed a warrior, someone strong enough—her mind flashed to Gamlen pinning her under him, his surprisingly muscular form preventing her from escaping.

Damn it! Hawke closed her eyes and counted backwards from three. There were details she needed to get sorted out before telling Varric she had the money. Taking a deep breath in, she let it out slowly and turned back to the page.

A healer would be nice, she reasoned. Anders had made it clear that while he hated the Deep Roads, if she asked him to, he would go. Payton chewed on her lip. She didn't want to make anyone do anything they didn't want to. Unintentionally last night flew into her mind again. Shouts of no and how she almost begged him to get off her.

Anger and frustration burned in her stomach and she tossed her pencil down, closing her journal with a snap. How could she get any work done if all she could think about was her Blight-be-damned uncle!

Irritation boiled in her gut as she began to pace. Payton had known since meeting Gamlen that he was a second-class slime ball; his bright idea of getting them into the city, constantly nagging them that they lived under his roof and should put in more money to pay the bills, gambling away wealth that rightfully belonged to her mother, illegally giving the estate away to _slavers_, the fact he wasted half his paycheck at the Blooming Rose.

Despite all of that, she never thought he would attack her like he did. For over a year she had lived with the man. Payton wasn't stupid, she had seen the times he stumbled home drunk leering at her.

It was one of the only times she ever was thankful Bethany was not there. However if Bethany had been, maybe Payton wouldn't have ignored the looks like she did. Even she would admit she had always been far more protective of Bethany than herself; always on the alert for any danger that could harm her younger sister.

Payton turned sharply, storming toward her journal. Ripping the page with the mark out, she balled it up and threw it into the fire. She watched the edges of the paper blacken and smolder before the flames caught it. It wasn't enough. Burning the page in an attempt to make the night before not happen wasn't enough. She wanted to hit something.

Cursing to herself, she grabbed her leather jerkin. Pulling the white tunic top she was wearing off, Payton latched the armor as quickly as she could. Buckles and knots flew as she tugged on her gloves and bracers before sweeping her twin daggers up.

Walking out of the room she started toward the stairs and then stopped. Down in the main room was Fenris, dressed in his armor once again. He was in the center of the room, greatsword in hand, attacking air. For a moment Payton watched him, mesmerized by the fluidity of his movements.

Coming down the stairs, she couldn't take her eyes off him. He moved with precision, each attack controlled but delivered with brutal force. Spinning around Fenris suddenly froze, looking very much like a deer caught by a hunter.

She offered him a tight smile. "Seems we had the same idea," Payton watched his mossy eyes flicker to her daggers and then back to her face. "Would you like a better sparring partner or are you content with the invisible air enemy?"

His brow arched, lips turning up with the hint of amusement. "You think you can out match the," he paused as though recalling her words. "Invisible air enemy?"

Drawing her daggers she came to a stop in front of him. "Afraid I'll beat you?" Payton's voice had more of an edge to it than she intended.

Fenris tilted his head slightly. "I won't go easy on you," he warned.

Payton grinned, satisfied at his response. "Good." She rolled her wrist, gripping the daggers tightly. "Well?"

An instant later she was blocking his attack. Payton was still amazed at how fast he could move. Until she met him, she would have never thought to describe a warrior as agile. Yet here he was a contradiction in terms.

Strength was undoubtedly on his side, especially since they were not actually trying to harm each other. Payton leapt back, avoiding his blows trying to funnel her frustration into the sparring match. It was like an intoxicating dance as they moved around the room. A sequence of their blades clashing again and again echoed around them.

Gamlen's face flashed in her mind causing her to misstep.

She began to lose ground. No longer attacking, her main object was to block and duck his onslaught. Her back found the wall when he swung to attack again. Locking her blades to an 'X' she trapped his, absorbing the brunt of his blow with a wince.

The sensation of being trapped gave her a moment's pause, her mind jumping to the terror she had felt the night before when she tried to escape.

Enraged as though Fenris was the one who made her feel that way, she kicked out. He stumbled back, bringing his greatsword up just in time. His blade was now a shield, deflecting the flurry of blows directed at him.

Spinning in a move she loved, Payton slashed at him, altering the move so that she would not actually hit him. One of her daggers that would have hit his neck if she hadn't changed direction was blocked by his sword while he had to simultaneously grab her wrist to prevent her other dagger from slicing along his abdomen.

With a burst of energy he drove her back, slamming her into the wall with determination. Her dagger slid down his blade to block. Payton couldn't help but groan when he twisted the dagger from her other hand and threw it aside. Funneling as much strength as she could, she grasped her remaining dagger with both hands, trying to force him back.

Pushing harder against the locked blades, Fenris suddenly stopped. She could feel the cool razor smooth edge of her dagger teasing her neck ever so slightly. For a moment the two of them stared at each other, their breathing rapid.

"Do you yield?"

Blowing a strand of flyaway hair out of her face she huffed. "Yield,"

Fenris took a step back, releasing her. Raw frustration still turned in her, not because she lost, but because she still wanted something to hit. Stalking over to her other dagger, she picked it up and turned back to him.

"Again?" she requested.

He hesitated before giving a small nod.

Without warning Payton launched herself at him. Fueling each blow with as much force as she could muster, she was only vaguely aware at the look of surprise on his face. He backed up to accommodate her flurry, able only to block her because she was aiming at his sword rather than him.

How could he do that to her?

She blocked forceful blow from Fenris and jumped backwards.

The rotten bastard, how could he not realize he had attacked his own niece?

Whirling she lashed at Fenris, remembering to pull her attack in just time. There was little need to worry, he had seen her use that move on the battlefield often enough that he knew how to block it.

What sort of man was Gamlen to be so drunk that he laughed at the word 'no'?

Raining attacks down, Payton was barely was aware Fenris was backing her into a corner again, using his greatsword more as a shield than an actual weapon against her barrage of swift attacks.

If she hadn't reached her knife in time would he have actually done it?

Payton hit the wall with a thud, knocking the wind out of her. Blue eyes focused on the elf again. "Fuck," she pushed way from the wall and moved to the center of the room. "Again," the word came out as more of a plea than she had intended.

Fenris wordlessly restarted the battle, this time leading the attack with a swift blow she had to quickly dodge. Her daggers made a crisp clanging noise as she hit his blade, challenging him to attack again.

The damned bastard, she wanted to break every bone in his hand; one at a time.

Two steps forward, one step back, they danced around each other.

Gamlen Amell, how could she call that pig family any longer?

Her blows were getting sloppy and at one point Fenris would have hit her arm if he had not pulled at the last moment.

How dare he try to rape her!

With a surge of anger, Payton swung her dagger at him. He brought up his sword meeting her blade. In a split second she lost her grip, the dagger clattering to the ground away from them, her wrist aching with the exertion.

Using the distraction, he advanced on her again, swinging. Throwing herself to the side, she gasped when he managed to catch her other blade, forcing her to release it and leave her weaponless.

Letting out a string of curses that would make a sailor blush, she did something incredibly foolish: lunged at him. Her hand wrapped around his wrists, trying to pull the greatsword from his grasp. Startled, he reared backward. Tripping over tangled feet, he let out a grunt as the two of them hit the floor, his own weapon now out of reach.

Payton showered blows down, trying to punch him for all she was worth.

The stupid son of a bitch tried to rape her!

She caught him with a particularly hard punch across the jaw sending pain radiating up her hand. He growled, bucking under her causing her to fall forward. In one swift movement he flipped over and pinned her to the ground.

For a moment she fought wildly, trying to claw at him before stilling, his heated gaze catching her eyes. Incomprehension filled her. Gamlen had blue eyes not green. Breathing heavily reality slowly came back to her as she stared at the person holding her down.

Several strands of shock-white hair were sticking to his forehead. Two large mossy-green eyes stared unblinkingly at her. His lip was split she noticed abstractly. Blood was bubbling up through the wound.

Horror filled Payton as she realized what she had done. "Maker," she whispered closing her eyes, shame replacing the anger. "Fenris, oh Maker I'm sorry," How could she do that? Losing her head in battle was bad enough but while sparring with a friend—she could have seriously hurt him! Opening her eyes, she looked up at him. "I didn't mean," she fumbled. "Andraste's ass," She cursed.

How could she have done something so stupid? She squeezed her eyes shut, imaging how angry he must be. She was lucky Fenris didn't rip her heart out for attacking him like that. He would never speak to her again. The idea of that in of itself saddened her more than she wanted to admit.

"Do you yield?"

Her eyes flew open. "What?"

Instead of judgment and condemnation in the eyes of the elf restraining her, she saw understanding. "Do you yield?" he repeated.

Nodding slowly, Payton watched the tension in him relax slightly as he released her wrists. Climbing off and pushing to his feet, Fenris offered his hand to her. Hesitantly she accepted, allowing him to haul her to her feet. She stumbled slightly, nearly falling into his chest when she stood.

"Again?" he stated, not breaking eye contact.

Her eyes flickered to the cut on his lip that she had caused and then back to his face. How could he ask if she wanted to spar again after she hurt him like that? After she let her anger take over?

Wordlessly he fetched the weapons, handing her daggers back to her and retaking his position in the center of the room. Payton stared at him. The barest hint of a smile was on his lips, encouraging her. Slowly she moved toward him, gripping her daggers tightly.

"Afraid I'll beat you?" Her words from earlier came in his deep brogue, a touch of challenge in his tone.

A grateful smile crossed her face as she took her position across from him. Fenris gave the tiniest of nods, acknowledging her silent thanks.

He understood.


	3. Chapter 3 Night Two

_Night Two_

To say the two of them were sore was an understatement. All day they had sparred, breaking only in the mid-afternoon for a quick but silent meal.

Fenris had recognized the look in her eye when they started the fight. He had only seen it once before when he joined her on a job. Hawke and Carver had an argument before heading off for the job and the younger stormed off but not before yelling at her that he hated her. She had thrown herself recklessly into the battles that day; fighting with a fierceness she usually did not have as though each enemy she killed would somehow erase Carver's words.

When she asked to spar he noticed the same behavior. Her attacks became increasingly choppy, the look in her blue eyes distant. Fenris quickly understood she was not fighting him but the memory of whatever Gamlen had done.

Part of him envied her. If she wanted she could march to Lowtown and kill Gamlen without trouble and that would be that. His demons were not so easily killed. Danarius was still out of reach and until he could rip the life out of the magister, he was resigned to carry them.

Fenris looked toward Hawke, who was sprawled on the floor again, spread in front of the fireplace, seeking its warmth. Her hair was still braided; snaking out on the floor like it was trying to escape. He could see her brow furrowed as she stared at the ceiling, a dark look on her face; a bottle of wine more than half gone next to her.

When they sat down to dinner (bread, cheese, and preserved meat) she had avoided looking him in the eye. He could practically feel the shame and embarrassment radiating off her. She was mortified at how she acted. Halfway through the meal she broke into apologies, fear tainting her voice. Fenris accepted the regrets and told her she needn't explain. She had remained silent for the rest of the meal.

It was unusual for her to be so quiet; Fenris thought nursing his own bottle of wine. He had grown used to her ramblings, her incessant questions, her amazing ability to draw him into conversation whether he wanted to talk or not. To have her silent like this felt unnatural.

Almost as though Hawke could hear his thought, she shifted. "Fenris," she sat up and was looking at him with an unreadable expression. "Is it all right if I," she hesitated looking down. "I mean, would you mind if I," Her words seemed to get lost.

"As you once told me," Fenris said softly. "You do not need my permission to speak,"

She wrapped her arms around her legs, reaching for the bottle and taking a long drink of the wine. "I'm so sorry about earlier," Her blue eyes darted to where she had split his lip. A healing potion had taken care of most of their injuries but it hadn't seemed to help assuage her guilt. "I didn't mean to attack you like that,"

"There is nothing to forgive," Fenris repeated, doubting if she would believe him now any more than she did the first few times he said it.

Hawke shook her head. "I just couldn't get it out of my head," she grimaced looking down. "What he did," He watched her wrinkle her nose. "Or technically what he tried to do," She took another sip from the bottle.

Fenris merely looked at her.

"Damned bastard blamed me for it too," she growled darkly. "Told them I attacked him,"

Told who, he wondered but didn't ask.

"You know what bothers me the most," Payton looked at him suddenly. "They believed him. What kind of person do they think I am in order believe Gamlen's bullshit story!" Her grip on the bottle neck tightened, her eyes dropping to his healed lip. "I guess I _am_ a pretty terrible person."

He stiffened; the thought was absurd. True she could be ruthless if given a proper reason but she saying she was a terrible person was a blatant falsehood. "Do not use the match between us today as a gauge, Hawke. You were not yourself,

"Wasn't I?" she whispered bowing her head. "That's all anyone ever wants me for these days, my ability to fight, the fact that I don't stop until I get the job done."

"If that were the case and you thought I was an enemy needing killing, you did a poor job," Fenris retorted, half pleased to see the wry smile on her lips.

"I didn't think you were an enemy," Hawke said quietly. "I thought you were Gamlen,"

A sneer crossed his face. "I think I'd rather be an enemy," He was rewarded with a soft laugh from her.

Payton took a drink from the bottle shaking her head. "Part of me still can't believe he did it, he's my uncle for Andraste's sake," She closed her eyes and he watched a myriad of emotions he didn't know how to name play across her face. "I wish I could believe he just forgot he had come back to the shack, that somehow he thought he was at the Blooming Rose," A grimace crossed her. "Though I'm not sure that makes it better,"

She took another long sip. "I should have been using the desk," she reasoned away. "If I had been writing at the desk rather than on the bed maybe I would have gotten way before he tried anything," Biting her lip she frowned. "Or at least I could have threatened him with my blasted daggers,"

Fenris could see tears glinting in her eyes as he listened.

"Damned man stumbled in drunk, sloshing and mumbling about money. I thought he was mad at me for hiding the general house fund again so he wouldn't drink away our food money." Snorting bitterly, Hawke took another drink. "I just ignored him, told him to sleep it off." Her eyes stared off into nothing, lost to the memory in a way he knew all too well.

"Took it the wrong way, I guess." She whispered. "He grabbed me and tried to push me down," Payton shook her head as though the movement could deny what happened. "Luckily he pushed me right off the bed, unfortunately he fell down as well, right on top of me," Letting out scoff she rubbed her head. "Maker, you wouldn't think to look at him but that man has muscle like you wouldn't believe. I always thought it was all blubber, with how much he drinks it seems like it should be,"

Fenris' mind traitorously pointed out that Gamlen worked as a dock hand unloading cargo ships; the work in of itself would build strength. He had noticed the muscle definition on the man the first time they met but Fenris could understand the assumption Gamlen was weak. The man acted like a petulant child denied his favorite toy.

"Bastard wouldn't get off, managed to smash my wrist into the bed post," Her thumb ran over the fading bruise. "He wouldn't listen," Payton said between clenched teeth. "Kept muttering that I'd like it and I shouldn't fight so hard," She closed her eyes. "Tried force my," Hawke hesitated, the word catching. "My legs open,"

Part of him wondered if fighting to break free was worse than being forced to hold perfectly still. He supposed the one difference between the two was with fighting there was a chance of escape.

"If I hadn't hidden that knife under the bed frame," Her voice shook. "I had gotten into the habit of that in the army, you never knew what the next attack might be, best be prepared," Payton drank the rest of her bottle of wine. Wiping her mouth she continued. "I nearly took off his fingers," the words were laced with bitter amusement. "It was enough to get him off of me. I remember standing there, staring at him, listening to his drunk ramblings." She hugged her knees tighter to her chest. "Called me a stupid whore, threatened to make me pay," A harsh smile spread on her lips. "I have to say breaking his nose was the most satisfying thing I think I've done since I cleared the slavers out of the Amell estate,"

Fenris longed to feel the same satisfaction.

"He howled," she said amused. "Screamed like I actually did cut his fingers off," Biting her lip, she stared into the flames. "Mother and Carver arrived home with Mutt a few minutes later. Gamlen was sitting at the table, shouting at me. When they came in," She dug her fingernails into her arm. "When they came in Gamlen claimed I attacked him. Said I punched him and threatened him with my knife when he caught me trying to sneak away with the money for the Deep Roads trip, told Carver I said I was leaving him behind,"

Payton sighed. "Carver hit the roof, mother started crying. She said that I was heartless for trying to leave without saying goodbye, how could I do such a thing to Gamlen, how," Her voice caught. "How could she have raised such a daughter?"

He could see the hurt on Hawke's face when she recalled what Leandra had said.

"Carver just went on and on about how all I wanted was the glory for myself, how he wouldn't be surprised if I was just going to run off with the money and leave them there penniless with Gamlen." Payton swallowed hard. "Shouted that if I was so determined to leave, go, and he hoped a darkspawn guts me before I come back,"

Fenris raised his brow. He had seen Carver's temper flare before but that was an awful thing to say, even when angry.

"I just," Hawke let out a long sigh. "I had to get out of there," She whispered. Closing her eyes she shook her head. "I couldn't get it out my mind. How could he do that?"

Fenris was unsure if she meant Gamlen or Carver.

"Am I really such a horrible person that both my family members can easily believe that I'd run off without saying goodbye or refuse to take Carver along for some petty reason like glory?"

"You are not a horrible person, Hawke." Fenris said firmly, his mind turning to the Fog Warriors and what he did to them. "If anything you're the opposite,"

"I attacked you, Fenris." Her blue eyes implored him with self-imposed guilt. "I could have killed you,"

Fenris let a small smile creep across his lips. "I doubt that," Hawke stared at him, seemingly unable to comprehend where he found the humor. "You would have had to win first and I don't believe you did,"

She started to object and then stopped. Finally a chuckle escaped her. "How do you do that?" Payton asked.

He smirked. "Skill, years of practice, fierce determination that no one who calls themselves a warrior should be bested by a rogue in close combat,"

Her light laughter seemed to brighten the room. "No," Hawke smiled at him. "You always seem to make me laugh. How do you do that?"

"Skill, practice, and fierce determination," Fenris paraphrased pleased when it earned him another laugh and a full smile.

"You're incorrigible," Amusement laced her words.

He watched her lay back down, folding her arms and using her hands as a pillow.

"I have to say, you're better than Varric," she stated idly.

Fenris' brow furrowed in confusion.

"All it takes for you to get me to spill my guts is a good bottle of wine and just sitting there. If Varric was half as good at getting me to talk he'd probably have my whole life story plastered over Lowtown," She huffed, blowing a piece of hair out of her face. "Blasted dwarf keeps trying to make me into a legend. I overheard him telling someone the other day that I apparently killed an ogre with my bare hands,"

Fenris chuckled. Even he knew by now to take the dwarf's stories in stride knowing that somewhere in them there was a grain of truth but most of the story was padded with details that never happened.

A comfortable silence passed between them again as Fenris nursed the bottle in his hand. His mind kept turning back to Danarius and the memories her recounting stirred in him. Broodingly he glared at the fire, trying to drown out his thoughts; because of this it took him several minutes to realize Hawke was staring at him.

"What?" he asked, shifting under her gaze.

"I finished raising the money for the Deep Roads," Payton started, chewing on her lower lip as she thought. "We'll probably leave at the end of the week,"

He supposed it made sense; they only had a limited time after a Blight that the Deep Roads would have fewer darkspawn. Something tugged inside him at the thought of her in an underground maze with the cursed creatures.

"Varric says we'll be gone a few weeks," Her blue eyes bore into him. "Will you be all right?" He blinked, unsure what she meant. "I mean," she gave a look around the room. "Danarius," He clenched his fist at the name. "What if he comes for you? This is his mansion isn't it? He has to know you're here,"

Fenris looked at her, trying to understand the warm feeling spreading inside him knowing that she was concerned for him. "Would it surprise you to learn that it isn't in fact _his_ mansion?" Confusion blossomed on her expressive face. "It belongs to a Tevinter merchant who has evidently given up on the place,"

"But when we met," she trailed off.

"I had received what I thought to be confirmed rumors that _he_ was here, inspecting his holdings," Fenris said darkly. "I have found no evidence that the merchant sold the property. Perhaps he is dead, perhaps Danarius killed him," He looked at her. "Either way, if Danarius is aware of my presence, he has done nothing,"

"I'm not sure if that's a good thing." Hawke voiced.

"Neither am I," Fenris found himself admitting. "Tell me," he focused on her face. "What do you do when you stop running?"

She raised her eyebrows and then shrugged, offering a smile. "You start over. Make a new life," The soft look on her face stirred something in him. "Isn't that what you want?"

"I don't know how," Fenris bowed his head. "My first memory was receiving these markings," He stared at the lines marring his skin, holding his hand out and turning it over in examination. "The lyrium being branded into my flesh, the agony wiped away everything," Closing his hand into a fist, Fenris let his hand drop to his lap. "Whatever life I have before I became a slave," he shook his head. "It's lost,"

"You don't know who you were?"

"Fenris was the name Danarius bestowed upon me, his 'little wolf'," Fenris spat, the emotions and memories churning in him. "If I once had another name or a life before, then it was taken from me,"

A terse silence passed.

"Do," her voice was crisp and full of hesitation. He met her eyes. "Does hearing your, the name Fenris bother you?" He blinked. "Did you ever think to go by a different name? One that _he_ didn't give,"

He thought a moment, mulling her question over. "No," Fenris finally decided. "It may or may not be my true name; odds are that I'll never know for sure." He shook his head. "Fenris is the only name I've ever known,"

"It's a part of you," He looked at her curiously, how she could understand such a thing. "No one really calls me Payton, not since Beth. Even father used to call me his little hawk; used to say it was an adept description, I swoop in and kill and fly away before getting caught. There are times I forget that I have a given name," A flush spread over her cheeks. "I know it's not the same," she quickly said.

Fenris felt a rare smile spread on his lips; something she always seemed to have the ability to cause. Her rambles fell away and she gave him a sheepish grin.

Shifting, he watched her play with the end of her braid, the pensive look returning to her face. "I haven't chosen who I'm bringing to the Deep Roads," Hawke said quietly. "Being gone for weeks worries me," Her blue eyes raised to meet his again. "Leaving people behind has never been my strong suit. Mother always complained that I have a habit of picking up strays,"

Sipping from the bottle, Fenris hid his amusement. Leandra was completely correct; he had witnessed himself how Hawke came to her friends aide, never saying no if they needed her help.

"Will you be safe?" she asked again. "If, if you don't come with us to the Deep Roads you'll be here in Kirkwall," Hawke shook her head. "What if he comes for you?"

"Then he comes," Fenris refused to acknowledge that he was nervous at the idea of running into Danarius alone.

Sighing heavily, Payton stood. "You're as bad as Carver," she complained. "That sounds exactly like something he'd say. I just," She looked at him seriously. "I just worry." Shaking her head again, she gave him a tight smile. "I'm going to head to bed," Just like the night before she paused at the door frame. "Thank you,"

"For?"

Looking back at him, she smiled. "Letting me stay, forgiving me," her eyes flickered to where she had split his lip. "Listening to me ramble," She met his gaze. "Believing me," Giving a light shrug, she bowed her head. "Just thank you,"

Fenris watched her slip out, thoughts heavy. It had been years since he could count himself friends with anyone. Holding himself apart from the people he encountered had become a habit. Years of training engrained in him dictated many of his actions. Even now the things Danarius had instilled in him were instinctual.

Drinking the last of the bottle of wine, he stood. What _would_ he do if Danarius came when Hawke was gone? Was he strong enough to confront his former master alone? What if he broke the way he did in Seheron? The thought chilled his blood.

Opening another bottle of wine, he half flung himself in the stuffed armchair he had just vacated. What if Danarius simply ordered him to give up the way the mage had ordered him to kill the Fog Warriors? Fenris flinched. Would he be able to resist the urge to give in? Could he stop the inevitable pull to obey?

A horrible thought flashed across his mind. What if Danarius came while Hawke was around and ordered Fenris to kill _her_? The wine tasted like ash in his mouth. She was a formidable woman but if he truly tried to kill her would she be unable to stop him. Fenris was more than reluctant to admit even to himself that the idea of attacking Hawke in earnest was nerve-wrecking. He had come to enjoy her company.

What ifs became the prevalent thought in his mind as he glowered at the fire. The idea of falling back into Danarius' hands was terrifying. To be under his control again, a shiver ran down Fenris' spine. Could Danarius wipe his memory the way that he had done before? Turn Fenris back into the obedient slave he had been, eager to please in every way possible.

He took another long sip of wine, praying to whatever god was out there that it would drown out his thoughts, his fears.

* * *

Cold had seeped into her, waking her from slumber. Opening two bleary eyes, Payton shivered. Why was she cold? Damned cold, how dare it wake her up. Grumbling, she shifted and then spotted her problem. The fire had gone out.

Sitting up, she looked to the pile of wood Fenris had brought to her room. Oh, she rubbed her eyes, brain slowly becoming more alert. She had meant to get more before retiring for the night but had forgotten. Wonderful.

Blowing a strand of hair out of her face, Payton scanned the room, searching for something she could burn. Unfortunately it seemed that Fenris had stripped most of the room already. The table, desk, and chair were the only pieces that remained.

Payton fell back on the mattress with a thump. She knew he kept a pile of 'firewood' in his room near the door. The bells from the Chantry chimed and she counted. Three bells, Lauds, three in the freaking morning, her mind grumbled. Fenris was certain to have gone to bed hours ago.

A shiver shuddered through her, causing her to pull her blanket tighter around her shoulders. What were her options? One, freeze the night away; immediately she dismissed it, there had to be a better choice. Two, break the table for firewood; that option came with the off chance it would cause Fenris to come bursting in thinking she was being attacked. Three, sneak into Fenris' room and steal some wood as quietly as she could.

Choices, choices, she mocked herself, getting to her feet. She wasn't sure if frightening him with the chance of an attack or sneaking into his room when he might be asleep would be worse; either way could end with disaster.

Leaving the blanket on the mattress, Payton tiptoed out the door, sliding into the hall as quietly as she could. Goosebumps ran down her arms; if anything the hallway was colder than her room. Rain pelted itself against the walls and windows giving her a symphony of soft noises to hide her footsteps in.

Fenris' door was open a crack and she could see the orange gleam from his fire flickering. A loud clap of thunder exploded just as Payton touched his door, pushing it open. She jumped, nearly cursing aloud. Glaring up as though she could see the Maker and scold him, she shook her head. Stupid storm.

Warmth rushed to greet her when she entered the room causing her to shiver with the sudden temperature change. Her eyes darted about the shadows, looking for the elf. She could just make out Fenris' form on the mattress at the other end of the room. Biting her lip, Payton snuck over to the pile of broken furniture pieces Fenris used as firewood. Reaching forward she carefully began to extract one piece at a time.

Thunder boomed loudly causing her to freeze, looking toward the bed with worry. Lightning lit up the sky, giving a flash of brilliant white light to the room. Her brow furrowed as she stared.

He was shaking; tossing and turning as though in the throes of a nightmare.

Against the voice of reason in her head, Payton set the wood she had gathered down and pushed to her feet. As though to enhance the tension she felt coiling in the pit of her stomach, the storm raged on; thunder rumbling, lighting flashing, wind howling.

Hawke bit her lip as she got closer. Empty bottles littered the floor near his bed causing her to glance toward the mantle. When she went to bed there had been six wine bottles there, waiting to be opened and shared; now there were only two. His chest plate and gauntlets were beside the bed and his greatsword right along the mattress, close enough that he could roll to his feet and grab it in one movement.

Wrapped in a blanket much like the one he had brought her, Fenris seemed unusually small. He had curled himself into a ball, his face tight in taunt lines. Every few seconds he would flinch and shrink into himself, shoulders hunching up. Her heart ached as she watched him. She could just hear a soft mumble coming from him, slurred words in Arcanum that sounded like begging.

Before she realized what she was doing, Payton knelt by the bed, reaching out to touch him. "Fenris," she whispered his name.

He recoiled when her hand brushed his arm, not waking but clearly terrified.

Sitting back on her heels, her mind raced. She had never seen the elven warrior like this; she would reason none of them had. He had always kept himself apart from the others, always on guard, always watching as though he expected an attack. Maybe he was; the thought had never occurred to her. Maybe Fenris really _was_ always waiting for an attack, waiting for the other boot to drop.

Payton had never thought much about what life would have been like for him as a slave. She knew abstractly through literature what it could be like but for some reason her mind had never connected the words and horrible stories she read to him. Fenris wasn't a slave or an exslave in her mind; he was a warrior, a man, a friend.

Unthinkingly she lightly brushed the hair out of his face. Instead of cringing or waking, he unconsciously leaned into her touch. Payton's heart hammered in her chest as she repeated the motion. His murmurs stilled at the simple comfort she was trying to offer.

She hesitated, glancing toward the firewood she had set aside and then to the door. Payton could easily sneak out and return to the room he let her have; most likely without Fenris ever the wiser that she had seen him. He was an intensely private person and had a habit of biting out cruel remarks when uncomfortable; a not-so-subtle way he kept everyone at a distance; and anyone seeing him vulnerable would be threatening to him.

Looking back at him, Hawke swallowed hard. His face twitched, brow furrowing and he drew back, lost in the nightmare. He had been there for her when she needed him, whether it was for sanctuary, battle, or simple listening; despite any reservations Fenris had, he had never turned her away.

Biting her lip, she moved slowly. Praying to the Maker he would not kill her on sight if he woke, Payton slid onto the mattress, sitting against the wall for support. Heart pounding, she lightly brushed her fingertips through his hair. He was stilling again. Payton repeated the action, tangling her fingers in the soft white locks.

Fenris leaned into her touch.

Memories stirred in her as she sat there, gently stroking his hair, running her fingers through the white strands. Her father had done this for her when she was young after a nightmare or to get her to go to sleep. He would sit much like she was now and instruct her to close her eyes. She would snuggle her head on his lap and obey, listening to him talk to her, sometimes he would sing, other times he would tell her wild adventure stories all the while lightly brushing his fingers through her hair until she fell asleep.

Closing her eyes, Payton leaned her head back against the wall. In the back of her mind she could hear her father's voice, singing softly to her. A smile tugged on her lips as she lost herself in the song, remembering the peace and safety she had always felt when her father was around.

Sleep started settle on her as she nearly nodded off. Jerking, Payton blinked rapidly. How long had she been there? The fire in his hearth was still burning but seemed less bright than earlier. She stopped her ministrations, shifting to get up and leave. The murmurs were back before she had even managed to stand.

Looking back at Fenris, her heart went out to him. He had tensed again; his brow furrowing. His nightmare was returning.

Payton faltered, glancing toward the door and then back at him. It was a foolish decision, she knew but she couldn't help it. She shifted back against the wall, running her fingers lightly through his hair again.

She knew if he woke there was more than a fair chance that he would be angry, quite possibly horrified at the idea she had seen him so 'weak'; but she couldn't bring herself to leave knowing he would fall back into whatever nightmare was plaguing him.

Leaning her head back against the wall, Payton shut her eyes listening to the sound of the rain. Part of her wondered how many times he had ever been comforted like this—or if he had _ever_ been consoled like this. With no memory before his marking and no mention of family, she realized he might not have a single memory of someone caring for him If that was the case it was no wonder he was always so hostile with everyone.

Was the cruel hand of the magister the only one he knew? Her thoughts whirled around in her head. Running from hunters and a crazy magister was not exactly the best way to make friends. He had alluded to being on the run for so long he hardly knew how to sit still. In group settings he was often quiet, snappish at times but she occasionally saw that dark humor bubble out in witty retorts.

Other than the mages the only person she had seen him actively try to steer clear of was Isabela. The pirate had made it plain that she liked what she saw and had made a habit of trying bump into him with 'accidental' touches. Fenris had always reacted badly to them, growling threatening words or standing perfectly still, unsure what to do. Had anyone ever cared for him without wanting something in return? Payton looked down at his sleeping form. Did he even know the difference between a friendly touch and abuse?

Gradually a troubled sleep claimed her, her thoughts and worries about the man who was quickly becoming her closest friend turning like the tide in her mind.


	4. Chapter 4 Day Two

_Day Two_

Consciousness returned just as the Chantry bells began chiming. Ten bells, Fenris counted, blinking away the sleep. Staring up the ceiling he stretched, a frown on his face. He felt rested. In fact, he thought sitting up, this had be the longest he had slept in ages.

The fire in his hearth was dying, the wood burned to ash. Standing, Fenris grimaced as his foot hit the empty bottles of wine he had discarded. His alcohol tolerance was still quite high but had he really managed to get so drunk he slept straight through the night? The thought seemed silly. He gotten wasted before and still had the restless nights of sleep, plagued by nightmares or light sleep that caused him to wake up at the slightest noise.

Walking over the water basin, he poured fresh water in, splashing it on his face. The storm raged on outside, sounding worse than ever. Turning back to his room, Fenris gathered the empty bottles, lining them along the bookcase he had put all the other bottles he and Hawke had finished. Maybe she wouldn't notice.

Kneeling in front of the fireplace, Fenris piled wood onto the embers. Automatically he reached for one of the books he had piled off to the side. He was readying to tear a page when he stopped, his mind flashing to Hawke's face when he tried to burn a page from a book. A smile unintentionally teased his lips. He glanced at the book and then at the fireplace. Unsure why he was doing so, Fenris set the book aside, taking up the flint and steel instead. Sparks flew and smoldered, slowly catching the wood pieces.

Warm flowed from the flames, bathing the room in light. Standing, Fenris walked over to the food cabinet. He wondered as he fetched what would be the meager but filling fare if Hawke was still abed. Setting the food on the table he left the room, intent on inviting her to share the meal.

Fenris stopped in his tracks just outside her room. The door was wide open and she was missing. At first he felt a thrum of hurt, his mind jumping to the conclusion that she had left the estate before he woke. Then he spotted her armor draped over the chair in the room, her daggers crisscrossed on the table, her bag by the desk.

His brow furrowed as he turned around. Where could she be? Returning to his room, Fenris sat down, staring at the hallway pensively. Minutes ticked by and she didn't appear. Impatience won out and he had to get up again, an unusual feeling of worry brewing in him.

Pacing by the fireplace, his mind raced. Did she go on a walk in the manor and get turned around? Hawke's sense of direction not bad, he reasoned, but could she have gotten lost? Or worse, in the clearing of the estate did they miss a room and she stumble across it unarmed? Was she lying injured somewhere, a shade moving in for the kill? What if slavers had come and kidnapped her? Fenris was amazed at the number of possibilities his imagination came up with.

It was irrational, he knew but he couldn't help the pulsing fear that was going through him. All the things that Hawke could have gotten into, all the ways she could have stumbled into trouble…It unnerved him how much the idea of Hawke being hurt bothered him.

Sweeping his sword onto his back, Fenris stormed out of his room. He was sure it was nothing, he'd run into her and fumble for something to say to excuse his panic. She'd laugh with that soft little smile that she seemed to reserve only for him.

He stalled when he stood in the main room, eyes darting to each of the doorways wondering which direction she might have gone. Choosing one at random, Fenris began his search. Other than the thorough search of the place to make sure it was secure, he had little reason to explore and as he looked for Hawke he was coming to the conclusion that this house had far too many rooms that seemed to serve no purpose.

A room meant to be a library devoid of all but a few scattered books with a desk in the center; a parlor that he remembered Varric's contacts buying furniture from, there was a grand dining room that still smelled of smoke where the abomination had missed his target and set the curtains on fire. He passed another sitting room followed by a door the gardens. Fenris stopped when he reached the servant's stairs and rooms; tiny cubbies with stacked beds that were too rotted to even consider selling.

Skirting through the narrower passage designed for the servants, Fenris appeared in the kitchen. After a swift check in the buttery and the pantry, he continued his trek. Smaller dining room, a small greeting room, and he was in the foyer. He had made a circle of the lower floor and could not find her.

More determined than ever, Fenris took the stairs two at a time. The two rooms that were in use were the first after the landing; old guest rooms. Taking the hallway that twisted down the right, he spared a look in another 'guest room' before continuing. The master bedroom was just as deserted. It was at the end of the hall he noticed light shining under the last door before the servant's stairs. As he approached he heard a faint off key melody.

Without thinking, Fenris opened the door and the sweet smell of scented soap wafted to him. The room was unlike all the others he had seen as it had been laid with intricate tiling even along the walls, though cracks marred many of the grey squares. In one corner of the room was a fireplace that seemed to be burning out the last of its wood, pot hanging over it in a curious manner, a bucket abandoned near it.

A mirror attached to a table was along the wall with a worn chair in front of it. He saw clothing folded neatly atop the surface. Near that was a decorative screen shielding part of the room from view. In the center of the room, however, was a large silver tub and it was there that the sound was coming from. Fenris froze, unable to comprehend the sight before him.

Hawke was in the bathtub, her back to the door, singing. Her long hair was wet making the dark brown strands appear black and twisted in a sloppy bun atop her head, secured with what looked like a decorative clip. His eyes trailed down her slender neck, tracing a path to her bareback until the tub blocked his view.

"Greensleeves was my heart of gold, and who but lady greensleeves," she sang unabashedly.

Fenris' heart quickened as he watched her rub a bar of soap along her arm that was stretching out. His eyes followed the hand as it moved up her neck and then dipped down her front, out of sight.

"I have been ready at your hand," The soap bar was now skating along her other arm leaving a trail of bubbles in its wake. "To grant whatever you would crave," Something stirred in him as she moved the soap, inadvertently imaging his hand tracing her body in its stead. "I have both wagered life and land," White bubbles were now covering her arms like sleeves as she rescrubbed the appendages. "Your love and good-will for to have,"

Her hand cupped the water and rubbed it down her arms and splashing it along her neck. A few drops of water trickled down her back tantalizingly.

"Greensleeves was all my joy," Hawke hummed. "Greensleeves was my delight. Greensleeves was my heart of gold, and who but—oh shoot," she stopped mid verse to the sound to something that made a soft plopping noise. Her hands dove into the tub searching for something in the water.

Heat rushed to his face and Fenris suddenly ducked his head, realizing how he had been spying. Turning sharply with the intent to leave before she noticed him there, Fenris was horrified at himself. How could he do such a thing? He managed to close the door most of the way but stilled when he heard her voice.

"Fenris?"

For a moment he hesitated, wanting nothing more than to shut the door and run back to his room, pretend like he hadn't been caught watching her. Even as he thought it, Fenris put the shameful plan aside. It was bad enough observing her in such an intimate way but acting the coward, and after what Gamlen put her through, he refused. Keeping his head bowed, eyes on the ground, he pushed the door open again, allowing her to see him.

"What are you doing here?" The sound of water shifting made him flinch. "Is something wrong?" if possible the concern in her voice made his guilt worse.

Giving a weak shake of his head, Fenris did not what to say. He was embarrassed over his worry when she was 'missing'; mortified that he spied on her, afraid of her reaction, unnerved at his; too many emotions for him to process at once.

"Are you all right?"

Without meaning to, Fenris looked up. She had turned around in the tub, a sheet pulled over her front for modesty. The tips of his ears burned as he realized he could see curve of her body outlined by the fabric.

"Fenris,"

His eyes shot to meet hers before lowering to the floor. "I apologize," he whispered, flinching and hunching his shoulders.

Half of him expected her to shoot a spell at him like Hadriana or Danarius, make his markings burn for his audacity. But she wasn't a mage and he had never seen her have the vindictiveness they had. Even so, he hated how afraid he was that she would be rightfully angry.

There was a tense silence after his words and he stood there, vacillating fearfully, unsure if he should stay or flee.

"Could you turn around?" Hawke finally spoke. "I'm a little," she paused, the hints of humor tinting her voice. "Underdressed,"

"I…of course," Fenris immediately turned his back to the room, fixing his gaze on the stone wall. He could hear her move behind him.

Water made a rushing sound as she must have stood. Her feet made soft padding sounds as she walked; the sound of material rustling. Suddenly he heard a squeak of alarm. On instinct he turned and in a split second lunged forward. Her foot had tangled in the tail of the sheet she was using as a towel and she had tripped.

Her hand unconsciously fisted around his shirt as he helped her stay balanced. Fenris forced himself to stare straight into her eyes, determined not to offend her any more. He could feel her body against his with the proximity. It terrified and enticed him; knowing that if not for the sheet, Hawke would be naked.

"You can let go of me now," she gave him a smile. Unwillingly, Fenris relaxed his grip and took a step back. "Thank you for the rescue," One of her hands was holding the sheet up, insuring it did not fall.

He watched her duck behind the screen. Abruptly he turned back around, taking a stance in the doorway again. He knew he should leave; walk away and wait for her in his room but he couldn't bring himself to move.

Fenris was berating himself for his stupidity. How could he have gotten so worried over her absence? She was an adult and a strong woman, easily able to take care of herself. Then to spy on her! After what she had just gone through with Gamlen, how could he do that? Nothing could excuse that behavior.

"I'm decent," she announced.

Taking it as an invitation to turn around, Fenris looked at her. She had come out from behind the screen, clothed in the same tan-gray pants as before his eyes were unintentionally drawn to her shirt. It had no sleeves and appeared more undergarment than actual covering, hanging to her waistline and the top dipping so he could see the swell of her breasts. The fabric was sticking to her skin slightly, curving with her figure.

Her hands were on her hair, removing the pin and shaking loose the strands. Unable to help himself, Fenris watched the locks fall. Hawke fluidly gathered the hair to one side and picked up a smaller towel, gently squeezing the excess water from the tresses, all the while staring at him.

"I'd ask again if anything was wrong," she started speaking. "But with your lack of answer previously, I'll assume not." Fenris bowed his head, words caught in his throat. "Did you just wake up?"

Part of him almost wished she would go ahead and yell at him, the idle conversation was driving him mad. Realizing she was waiting for an answer, Fenris gave a clipped nod. Her eyes were on his sword and then his distinct lack of a chest plate.

"The only thing I can guess is that you either decided that being a pervert was a good idea, and if that's the case I'll have to hurt you," Hawke's tone was steely. "Or," Her voice lightened. "You found me missing, thought I somehow got into danger wandering this huge house and came dashing to my rescue." A wry smile was on her lips. "I'd like it to be the second, to be honest."

Fenris did the only thing it seemed he could and nodded again.

"We cleared this estate," Hawke said quietly. "There is no danger here,"

Something burned within him. How could she stand there acting as though what he did didn't matter?

"Besides," A soft smile was spreading on her lips. "I wouldn't leave without telling you first." She quirked her eyebrow at him; a playful spark returning to her eyes. "Maker help us if you thought I simply vanished. You might storm every bathing room in Kirkwall,"

He flinched; heat rising to his face as he finally connected what room this was.

"Well," she shifted, tossing the towel over to the table. Her hands twisted the long damp locks of hair up and she secured it with the clip. "To end this incredibly awkward moment, I have to empty the tub," Hawke gestured to the soapy water in the bath. "Unless you wish to help, I'll be there in a little bit. I spotted some food holed up in the larder, did you know about it?"

His mind was taking far too long to process what she was saying.

"Some of it has spoiled," she was walking over to the bucket near the dying fire. "But I wasn't sure if you knew about it,"

Mutely Fenris shook his head. She skimmed the water in the tub, lifting the now full bucket up. Payton walked over to the lone window in the room and opened it. The sounds of the still raging storm echoed on the walls. He watched her peer out for a moment before lifting the bucket and dumping the water out.

Realizing he was still there watching her when she poured out a third bucket, Fenris jerked. Spinning around he walked away, leaving the door open as he half fled. A string of curses offered themselves up in his mind.

How could he have stood there, watching her? He rebuked himself. What sort of sordid demon had been conjured to force him to do such a thing? How could a demon of desire slip unnoticed into the manor to entice him thus? How dare she summon one! Did she do it to mock him? What sort of sick amusement did she glean from forcing such emotions on him?

Fenris had buckled his armor and he was pacing in front of the fireplace before it dawned on him. Hawke wasn't a mage. There was no lyrium deposits around save for the ones burned into his flesh. She had no way of summoning a demon. Confusion mingled with fear ran through him.

Why had he reacted that way then? Why had he been unable to move, captivated at the sight of her flesh? What was the cause of the increase of his heart rate? The warm nerves spreading from his stomach? Why had he been so terrified at how she would respond? As a rogue she could hardly hurt him seriously; at best she could try and outmatch his speed to get the first attack in. Why, after only two weeks, did he care what she thought?

Turbulent thoughts raged in him. He had to get out of there. Fenris was running by the time he reached the front door. Rain poured down on him, drenching him before he had even reached the Chantry.

What was it about this woman that drew his attention? Why did he count on her for aide? Why did he put up with her antics? She had proven herself foolish more than once; mages freed, Templars deceived. An abomination traveled with her as a _friend._ The Dalish maleficar was allowed to live. Hawke drove him mad!

He would point out the foolhardy notion that either of the mages could behave, how idiotic it was to believe that they could remain controlled free from the circle. She would just smile at him. That infuriating smile that communicated with more than words!

Hawke claimed she understood; that she knew the hazards. What would she know of magic and the dangers it had? They would bicker back and forth for hours until it was time to part ways where she would give him a genuine smile and thank him; saying he had given her lots to think about. The rogue was thoughtless in her risks.

How could she _understand_? His thoughts spat bitterly. What experience did she have with mages? Had she never considered that every mage could turn into an abomination at any moment? Did she never see the evil they possessed?

"Elf?

Perhaps she had already been influenced by a demon. Fenris disliked the thought. It would explain her constant siding with mages; keeping mages free of the Circle would leave them easy prey.

"Elf!"

What if she really was being controlled by a demon? It would have to be a demon of desire, his mind justified. How much of the woman that enraptured him was the demon? Did the Hawke he knew even exist?

"FENRIS!" the voice caused him to jerk, reaching for his weapon.

Spinning Fenris blinked, water dripping into his eyes. He spotted the dwarf leaning against the doorway of a Lowtown shop—Fenris looked around sharply. He had walked all the way to Lowtown?

Varric was eyeing him. "Decided to go for a swim?" he gestured to the heavy rainfall.

The feeling of being very wet came across Fenris as he realized he was drenched; his hair plastered to his forehead. He hadn't even noticed.

"You look like you're getting in some serious brooding time," Varric sounded amused.

"I don't brood," Fenris objected.

The dwarf laughed. "Friend," Varric straightened his stance. "If your brooding were any more impressive, women would swoon as you passed. They'd have broody babies in your honor,"

Fenris glared at him.

"What are you doing out in this weather, elf?" Varric grunted as he took a step into the rain, looking up the sky affronted when he became wet.

"What are you?" Fenris deflected.

"I happen to have a perfectly legitimate reason," he responded cheerily. "But I'm not the one storming through the streets like someone kicked your puppy,"

He looked at the dwarf. Kicked his puppy?

"Walk with me, elf," Varric directed.

Fenris glared at him, he hated being ordered what to do.

"I have another stop to make and I like the company," he excused in a light tone.

Having nothing better to do, Fenris walked alongside him. His mind had slowed its violent flood of questions and thoughts. Now all he seemed to be able to think on was how Hawke could have engrained herself so quickly into his life.

"Carver was in the Hanged Man the other night, drunk off his ass." The dwarf chatted about nonsense next to him.

He barely paid attention, his thoughts still circling Hawke.

"Wish you had been there, elf. It was beautiful."

She was unlike any woman Fenris had ever met.

"He lost half his money during Wicked Grace because he was too busy talking,"

Her open honesty was unnerving and her sharp wit mingled with free opinions was almost pleasant.

"I think I learned more about Hawke's past from him last night than I ever did from her," Varric let out a laugh. "Should have tried it ages ago,"

She treated him like no one ever had before: like he mattered.

"He told this one story about Hawke and Bethany,"

Hawke treated him like she honestly cared about his thoughts.

"Apparently when they were younger, they got into this fight,"

The rogue treated him like a friend.

"Bethany got so mad she accidentally lit Hawke's hair on fire," Varric barked out chortling as though it was the funniest thing ever.

Fenris raised his brow at the dwarf before something hit him. "How does one _accidentally_ light hair on fire?"

"With magic, of course," Varric said off handedly. "Kids are never good at controlling their powers when they are angry. It's why the Circles can find them," He brushed off the explanation. "So anyway, Carver said that Hawke looked terrible, her hair was singed so badly that she looked bald. Apparently anytime someone mentioned it she would—"

"Magic?" Fenris repeated.

Varric paused and looked at him. "Bethany was a mage."

The words repeated themselves in his mind.

"You didn't know? Hawke's father and sister were both mages. Girl's got magic in her blood, let me tell you." Varric whistled. "Whether she's a mage or not, I've never seen someone fight like her."

Fenris tuned the rest of Varric's story out. Hawke was daughter and sister to a mage? Her voice echoed in his head, reminding him of the conversations he had had with her. She had commented knowing what it was like to always be waiting for an attack, understand how it felt to constantly be moving from place to place. Lothering, he remembered her confessing, had been the longest her family stayed in one place since the twins were born.

Like lightning his mind was connecting the dots, hearing her words in his head again; seeing where she alluded to knowing the dangers of magic. Her tight unreadable look the first time he had said 'what does magic touch that it doesn't spoil.'

"Elf, you have got to learn some manners. That was a very funny story I just told you," Varric complained in his own amused way.

Fenris looked at him, suddenly feeling like he owed Hawke another apology.

The dwarf shook his head, stopping in front of a building that had the heavy smell of bread wafting from it. "I'm sure Michael wouldn't mind you coming in to warm up," Varric gestured him in.

Warmth caused goosebumps to race down Fenris' arms as he stepped inside. Varric shut the door and greeted the baker loudly. Awkwardly, Fenris stood to the side, a puddle of water dripping at his feet while Varric talked to the man.

Hawke still plagued his thoughts. The bubble of shame had come back over him, his guilt poking at him once more. Spying on her while she bathed, the tips of his ears burned. She hadn't seemed mad at him, even though she had every right to be. His worry, fear, that she would be angry was strange. Maybe this was what it was like to have a friend?

Suddenly Varric was in front of him, pushing a bag into his hand. "Go home, elf. Get out of this dreadful weather."

Fenris looked at the leather sack confused.

"I don't expect you've had fresh bread very often." Varric offered as way of explanation. "Now get home and eat it before it cools off,"

Silently and automatically, Fenris turned to obey. It was foolish of him to have run out shortly after he had burst in on her because she had disappeared without a word. If she was angry with him, he only could hope it would pass. He liked her company, whether he wanted to admit it to himself or not.

* * *

Biting her lip, Payton looked up from her journal for the fifth time in the last five minutes. Her eyes hovered to the hallway outside the door, hoping that Fenris would come through the door now. She had been on her way to his room when she saw him burst out in full armor and ghost down the stairs. The look on his face was one of tortured contemplation.

Grimacing she lowered the book to her lap. When she saw the door trying to close while she was bathing her first reaction had been fear. Was there some danger that had happened in the time it had taken her to carry water up, heat it, and bathe? Was Fenris seeking her for aide against slavers that arrived while she was indisposed? Fighting starker with nothing but a small dagger she always kept on her person was not something she had wanted to do.

She remembered the look on his face when he gawked at her. He was mortified, embarrassed at his actions. Payton fingered the edge of the book pensively. The look on his face was fearful; his shoulders had been hunched like he expected to be hurt.

When he rescued her from falling because of that stupid sheet, she realized he was staring at her with a childlike fear, as though he didn't quite understand what he was looking at. His awkward staring and jerky movements were almost endearing.

Obviously, by his absence, the invasion of her privacy bothered him much more than it seemed to be bothering her. Going from traveling with the army to the close quarters on the ship to Kirkwall and from the pitch tents in the Gallows to Gamlen's hovel, Payton had long since grown used to someone barging in heedlessly; whether it be immature men trying to sneak a peek or her brother forgetting to knock.

The look on Fenris' face had been far different from the boyish soldiers cawing loudly at her or the moaning blush Carver had as he quickly left. No one had ever looked at her like Fenris had; as though her body was something to be revered.

Payton knew she wasn't the most feminine looking, her body was mostly lean muscle and compared to Isabela her bosom was nonexistent. Despite the fact he had intruded, she had felt her heart quicken when she saw him admiring her.

Chewing on her lower lip, she stared at the fire. When she woke in the morning she had thanked the Maker that Fenris was still sound asleep. His head and migrated closer to her, resting near her leg. Her hand was tangled in his hair, the white strands soft between her fingers. There had been a peaceful look on his face, the lines of pain or brooding thought that so often tugged on his face had been gone.

Sneaking out of the room and back to her own had been easier than she thought; though she did have to go back to fetch the firewood she had tried to take the night before. Far too antsy to write in her journal, Payton had wandered the house.

It was mostly as she remembered it, though more than a few pieces of furniture appeared to be missing. The only thing that surprised her was when she found food in the kitchen. Fenris kept his food in a cabinet in his room; she had just assumed that he had emptied the pantry of everything. Now she wondered if he kept his food there to have it close at hand in the event he would have to make a quick escape.

The amount of wine and ale in the buttery made her understand how he never seemed to run out. An alcove had been cut away in the room, making it into a mini room of itself. The walls were covered, floor to ceiling, with wine racks. Hundreds of bottles, some dusty, some wiped clean were neatly arranged. The wine they had drunk over the last two weeks seemed to have barely made a dent in the supply.

Along the back wall of this alcove was a glass case that had been broken. In it on one of the two shelves she had spotted bottles bearing a remarkable similarity to the bottle Fenris called Agreggio Pavali before smashing it against the wall on her first visit. The other bottles in the cabinet seemed very ornate and she had reasoned they were most likely the expensive showy wines the merchant had owned.

Finding the bathing room had been accidental. For the life of her, Payton couldn't remember seeing it when they cleared out the mansion with Fenris. Most of the shades that had been left isolated themselves downstairs.

Coming across soap, really honest to goodness soap had excited her more than she wanted to admit. The last time she had a bath with soap was before her father died. It may have been foolish but she couldn't help but bathe.

Her favorite scent when she was younger was mint that she would often press into soap bars. This soap was soft smelling, lilies, musk mixed with lavender and something she couldn't quite place. It was sweet but pleasant, like lying in a meadow near some wild flowers.

Should she go and look for him, she wondered. He had been gone for what felt like ages though she was certain was probably closer to thirty minutes. Payton knew the elf could take care of himself and valued his independence, rebuking aid most of the time as though the offer was insulting. He equated self-sufficiency as freedom, she reasoned and she supposed to a certain extent it was.

Standing apart from people had probably kept him safe in the past; less chance of a person betraying him, Payton reckoned. It must be horrible having the threat that at any moment someone could swoop in and take away the freedom he fought so hard for. She longed for him to understand that no one in their group would let slavers take him. He had become a part of the very screwed up family of friends Payton had been piecing together.

The sound of someone clearing their throat pulled her from her thoughts. Fenris stood soaking wet in the doorway looking hesitant and very nervous. Payton felt a smile tug on her lips. He looked like a drowned cat, his hair plastered to his face and cheeks, his tapered ears showing through more than ever.

"Beautiful weather for a stroll, don't you think?" she teased, thunder crashing perfectly on key to illustrate her point. He blinked sluggishly as though he didn't understand the joke. Shaking her head, Payton stood, placing the book on the table as she went. "Come over to the fire, Fenris. You're soaked to the bone,"

Picking up a blanket as she went she walked toward him, all too aware of how he flinched when she got close. Tentatively she touched his arm, watching his face twist into panic, clearly wanting to pull away but seemingly incapable to. Flinging the blanket over his shoulders, she took a step away from him; alarmed that she might have caused this timidity in him. Did he think she would hurt him?

Something unreadable passed his face as he looked at the blanket, uncertainty clear. Motioning toward the fireplace, Payton was relieved to see him obey. The last thing she wanted to see was Fenris come down ill. Odds were if he did, he would suffer it out rather than go to Anders for healing magic.

Absently she added more wood to the fireplace, trying to encourage the flames to give him more heat. He was standing, water dripping onto the floor, watching her with that strange gaze he always had.

"Sit, dry off," she instructed ducking out of his room for her blanket.

When she had been out in the storm the rainwater had been frigid. Ferelden often had cold weather and storms so she was used to it but to the Free Marches this weather was dangerous; illness spreading due to the cold and wet. Pausing she grabbed the mug she had brought to her room with the kettle from the kitchen. There was no cider to heat or milk but a warm cup of water could do wonders.

Payton stilled in his doorway, arms full, a smile stealing across her face. He had removed his armor, each piece positioned neatly in front of the fireplace. He, surprisingly, was on the floor, his greatsword near him. The blanket was wrapped around his shoulders and he seemed to be staring at the flames emotionlessly.

"Here," she said snapping out of her revere.

She tried not to notice when he flinched again as she put the second blanket on his shoulders. Working in silence, feeling his eyes follow her, she scooped water into the kettle and carefully positioned it on the rod hanging above the flames so that it would heat. Turning, hoping to find something else for her to do until he spoke she spotted a bag on the table that hadn't been there before.

"What's this?" a voice in the back of her mind that sounded remarkably like her mother, scolded her, saying it was none of her business. Pushing it aside, she picked up the bag and held it up for inspection.

"I ran into Varric," he gave as way of explaining.

Opening the bag, the smell of bread was released into the room. Closing her eyes she inhaled. "Oh these smell divine," Payton smiled when she opened her eyes, realizing Fenris was staring at her again. "Can we split a loaf?" she gave her best impression of puppy dog eyes which caused the corners of his mouth to turn up in a half smile. "You have no idea how good fresh bread can be," she tried to entice him.

"So he said,"

Taking it as permission, Payton grinned and plopped on the floor in front of him. Taking the top loaf she reveled in the warmth it spread. Breaking it in half she immediately offered him the larger piece. His green eyes flickered from each piece, surprise barely hidden within their depths. Hesitantly, he took his half.

Pinching the bread between her fingers, Payton ripped off a piece and popped it into her mouth. Her eyes closed, rolling in the back of her head. Herb bread, Varric had given him garlic herb bread. It was heavenly. Pulling another piece off, she lost herself to the flavor for a moment. It had been nearly three years since she had last had fresh bread that wasn't made from barley or rye. Flour was expensive and her family lacked the funds.

Half way through putting another piece in her mouth Payton froze. Fenris was watching her, his own bread untouched in his hand. He seemed fascinated. A blush burned across her cheeks, Maker if she had been making the moaning sounds she used to when eating fresh bread she would die of embarrassment right there.

"Good bread," she said lightly.

"Indeed," He was smiling.

Payton watched him move to eat. He, like her, pulled a piece off and took a bite. It was amazing to watch his face as he discovered the flavors. She couldn't help but laugh when he yanked another piece off and ate it in quick succession. The meal, if a loaf of bread and dried meat she fetched from the table could be called a meal, was eaten in silence.

The water was heated in no time and she insisted he drink at least one cup. He indulged her, cupping the mug in his hands, seemingly trying to hide his enjoyment of the warmth it offered. The tension was rising between them when the food was finished, much to her chagrin. His shoulders had gone from relaxed to slowly hunching over, his eyebrows furrowing as he brooded.

"I'm not mad," Payton said watching him jerk, his eyes looking at her with mistrust. "About earlier, I mean," she knew she probably didn't have to elaborate but she did anyway. "I know it was unintentional to walk in on me bathing,"

His head bowed, the white hair (which was now mostly dry) dipping into his eyes, shielding the mossy green orbs from view. After a long stretch of quiet he finally spoke. "I must confess hearing you sing was unexpected,"

She blinked. Moaning, she buried her face in her hands. "You heard me sing!" In the midst of worrying that something horrible had happened and realizing he had been watching her, the fact she was singing had completely escaped her. "Maker," Playfully she tried to look threatening. "Don't you dare tell anyone,"

Fenris arched his brow at her quizzically.

"The last thing I need is Varric latching onto the idea I can sing. He'll have me charging into battles like a bard," Running her hand through her damp hair, she shook her head. "That dwarf spews bullshit like its air to him. I doubt he could tell the full truth if he tried,"

Something flickered across his face. His gaze had intensified into one she had dubbed his 'thinking about whether to ask a question' face. Patiently she waited. It had taken her several talks with him to finally convince him that he could and should say what he was thinking; that he didn't need permission to speak let alone voice his opinion or ask her a question. She wasn't offended easily and the idea that he could do so was laughable.

"He told me that your sister once burned your hair,"

Payton's jaw dropped. How in Thedas did the dwarf know—Carver, of course. She huffed rolling her eyes. "Carver loves that story, the little snot." Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes. "Bethany and I had gotten in to a fight," Wrinkling her nose she paused. "For the life of me I can't remember what it was about,"

It was odd, she thought. Back when it happened the fight seemed so important; they had spent hours bickering about it until Bethany snapped.

"Father had been teaching her how to conjure fire earlier in the week and she still hadn't gotten the hang of it," Absently, Payton ran her hand through her hair, a habit she had gotten into after her hair grew back. "I said something particularly mean to her and she gave me this look, I swear it was the perfect imitation of the look mother gives me.

"Anyway, out of nowhere fire bursts into life on the edge of my braids," She laughed, the memory had become one that bonded her and Bethany. "She was screaming, which just caused the fire to flare more," Payton grinned. "I grabbed a knife off the kitchen counter and chopped off my hair. The braids fell to the floor and sizzled into ash a few moments later,"

Fingering her hair, she tilted her head. "Bethany was mortified; terrified at what her magic did. And then mother came in and saw my hair," It had been a split second decision to lie for her sister, their mother was already uncomfortable knowing her youngest daughter had magic. "When I told her I was tired of long hair she hit the roof. Acted like I shaved my head to be honest,"

Wrinkling her nose at the mental picture of her with a shaved head, she laughed. "I mean, it wasn't as though my hair was as short as some of the fighting women you see, it was," she held her hand up to measure. "Chin length or so. I was in trouble for weeks."

Payton smiled at him. "We told father the truth, of course. Bethany worked so hard to make sure she could control her magic after that, promising never to lose it like that again." Carver had threatened to tell mother the truth for ages, she remembered but both sisters closed rank on him and bullied him into silence. "For years I kept it short, a private little joke for me to torment my mother with. Every year Bethany would ask me to grow it out again but I wouldn't, not to spite her or anything but to annoy mother."

When Bethany died Payton felt part of herself get lost; building a makeshift pyre for her sister and Wesley without ceremony was painful. The blame her mother had heaped on her had been worse. All she could do was throw herself into protecting her family and Aveline.

It was easier than she had expected with the witch making them a path through the darkspawn. With the added help, they faced little opposition in getting to Gwaren safely. By the time they reached Kirkwall her hair had grown past her shoulders and she couldn't bring herself to cut it.

Blinking back the tears that seemed to have found their way to her eyes she looked at Fenris. There was something curious on his face, an expression she couldn't quite place. Something occurred to her so suddenly she felt like she was falling.

Had he known she had magic in her blood?

She had never kept it a secret from anyone. Shame about having had an apostate for a father and sister was not an emotion she felt. It was simply a fact. But Fenris hated magic, with a burning loathing that could accurately be called frightening.

The first time he spat out what seemed to be a favorite phrase of his, what does magic touch that it doesn't spoil, they had been sharing a bottle of wine alone. She had been hurt but said nothing, knowing what magic had done to him, she excused it. Magic _could_ be used for great evil and while she would never go as far as saying it spoiled everything it touched (especially since that would condemn her as well) she knew the dangers of mages and what magic could do unchecked. When he said it in front of Carver and Varric she had watched the dwarf readying to object, offended for her but Carver had brushed it off like it was nothing; her brother's own dislike for what magic had done to their family clear.

If Fenris didn't know she had magic in her blood before, he did now. Would it change anything? Would he hold her at a distance again the way he did everyone? The thought sadden her. She had come to rely on his clipped wit and rebukes. He was a good balance to her group and a good friend.

"You didn't know that Bethany and my father were mages did you?" Payton asked.

The look in his eyes said it all.

"Maker," she closed her eyes. "Fenris I wasn't trying to keep it a secret, I swear." Her heart pounded in her chest. "I thought everyone knew,"

He only put up with the mages in her group because of her. If he pulled away from her because of her heritage—would he even stay? The idea of losing him as a friend was almost painful.

"For what it's worth," His voice caused her to open her eyes and look at him. There was a softness to his face. "Long hair suits you,"

Payton blinked, her mind taking forever to process what he said. The nervousness she felt was bleeding away and a blush crept across her cheeks at the flattery. Throwing her head back she shook it, causing her long locks to move about in bouncing swirls. His eyes followed the movement, a small smile on his lips.

"You think so?" she teased, fishing for compliments.

His green eyes sparkled as though he knew exactly what she was doing. "Yes," he said with a smile. "Perhaps you should wear it down more often,"

Laughing, she leaned back, using her hands to support her. "It'd be dreadfully annoying in battle. Even when my hair was short I made sure it stayed out of my face, the last thing I needed was to be blinded by hair when attacking darkspawn,"

"It becomes you," he said simply.

Her face flushed and she couldn't help but smile. No one ever told her that she looked good; looks were inconsequential when it came to her. The only thing people ever noticed about her was how she fought—or occasionally her sarcastic wit. Not even her mother noticed the way she looked anymore.

Thunder crashed outside causing her to look toward the window. If not for the storm she would probably have been out traipsing along the coast again, finishing up a few more jobs so that she could leave some extra money behind for her mother.

It had to have been raining for a week by now. At first it wasn't all that bad, there were worse rains in Ferelden and she happily continued working. Unfortunately the weather had grown steadily worse and the last job she had gone on had them stumbling across a mature dragon.

If running from an angry fire-breathing beast wasn't bad enough, the rain had made the gravel unstable and more than once she had to pick herself up off the ground, mud coating her due to her unexpected fall. The only good thing about the rain that day was by the time they had gotten back to Kirkwall it had washed away all the mud, blood, and dirt.

Back in Ferelden if the weather got this bad her mother would set to baking; if they were lucky she had honey to sweeten the bread. Her parents had made it special for them on the days they were trapped inside; turning the main meal into a 'camp out' in front of the hearth. Eating sweet rolls and even occasionally meat under a makeshift blanket fort while her father made up a new adventure story to entertain them was one of her fondest memories.

Carver would often get in trouble for knocking over furniture as he played, trying to catch his sisters in a game of chase. Other times he would be content to practice sword movements with a wooden training sword he had made. Bethany would almost always be near the fire under a blanket reading or practicing her magic. Payton, on the other hand, enjoyed helping her mother make the bread. If she wasn't doing that she would be on the floor near Bethany, sketching or writing.

Her brow furrowed and she looked at Fenris, curiosity sparking. "I've got to ask," He looked at her. "It's something we're all wondering, I'm sure." Fenris arched a brow. "What do you do in this gigantic house all day?"

A look of mischief danced across his face and he smiled at her. "Dance, of course,"

"What?"

"I go from room to room, choreographing routines,"

Payton laughed, trying to picture it. "I suppose that explains your grace on the battlefield,"

His rich chuckle gave her goosebumps. "When you're not on jobs what do you do?"

"Acrobatics," she shot back an equally witty response. "I find a large open space and practice throwing myself into the air and doing summersaults before I hit the ground," Payton enjoyed the smile that spread on his lips.

Looking at the fire, she fell silent, thinking. It had been ages since she did not have something to do or somewhere to be. An errand for Varric, a favor for Aveline, a job to raise funds, ever since her work with the Red Iron ended she had been constantly busy doing one thing or another.

Turning her attention back to him, she was a little amused when she found him staring at her. "I see you have left your book burning days behind," she nodded toward the books he had moved away from the fireplace.

The tips of his ears turned pink. "If you wish them, they are yours,"

Payton felt excitement bubble in her. "Really?" she asked looking to the books and then back. "Are you sure?"

Before he even had the chance to answer, she pounced on the pile, searching through the covers to see what they were about. Spotting a book at the bottom she remembered reading back in Ferelden she pulled it out. Running her fingers over the engraved title she flipped it open and was pleased to see it undamaged.

As she turned back to him she stalled. There was a look of bewildered amusement on his face. Realizing what she must have looked like, Payton nervously tucked her hair behind her ear, holding the book tightly to her chest.

Fenris stood, dropping the blankets to the ground so that they could dry. "I shall let your enjoy your books," he said quietly.

"And I'll let you get to that dancing,"

He shared a smile, picking up his sword before heading out of the room and she heard his footsteps fade until he must have been in the great room. Payton immediately settled on the floor, her back leaning against Fenris' chair and opened the book, barely able to wait to lose herself in the story.


	5. Chapter 5 Night Three

**AN**: Thank you everyone for your reviews (I love hearing what you think), your favoriting (It's great to know you like my work), and your following (I'm glad that you enjoy the story enough to wait for more). Without further adieu...

* * *

_Night Three_

Fenris watched her as he drank. Currently Hawke was stretched on her stomach next to the fire. She was supporting herself on her elbows and her legs were bent, crossed at the ankle and in the air, occasionally moving. The book, which she was halfway through by now, was in front of her. Her dinner was in one of her hands and she was slowly eating as she read, every so often turning a page.

She seemed enthralled, completely lost in the pages. Part of him envied her. His inability to read was not something he wanted known but he did wonder what could be in books that seemed to excite her.

He knew that many texts were educational, recordings of lessons learned or knowledge obtained. Sebastian had offered him a copy of Chantry text that was as thick as a brick. Varric was proof enough that some books must be fictional, stories woven for the purpose of entertainment and nothing more.

A soft giggle emanated from her, capturing his attention again. He wondered which one she was reading. Payton hardly seemed like the type to enjoy educational works the way she seemed to appreciate this one. Her scoffing remarks about the Chantry were enough to convince him that this was not an abridged version of the book Sebastian had tried to give him; which, of course, left him with the only other type of book he knew.

Sipping from the bottle of wine in his hand, Fenris wanted to ask her. He _wanted_ to know what was written on those pages; why she had gotten so annoyed with him when she saw him burning a book.

Hawke laughed again.

After the awkwardness in the morning, Fenris was more than relieved to see the two of them fall back into the pattern they were obtaining. He had never thought he would feel comfortable with someone else like he was with her. It was strange but then again he was quickly learning that Hawke broke the mold in almost every expectation.

Rich or poor was trivial to her. She once told him it was the quality of the person she liked not the quantity of their purse. Being rich didn't make a person above others in her mind; it meant the person had the means to make a difference.

Qunari, dwarf, elf, human, race didn't seem to matter to her. She treated everyone with the same respect and only became snide if someone was snotty with her friends. If a merchant or noble looked down their nose at her Payton would reply in some sarcastic way, cleverly disguised under flattery or glib comments.

When they met and she refused payment, he had wondered what the catch was. The steely look that entered her eye then was surprising to him as were her words swearing that she would never charge for the fun of removing scum like slavers from the world. Her promise to help him when Danarius came if he wished startled him. The fact she would intentionally confront and kill a magister just to see him stay free baffled Fenris.

It was because of that promise, the truth behind it, that he stayed. Fenris had fully intended on leaving shortly after, perhaps fleeing across the sea to Ferelden now that the Blight had ended. But then Hawke had invaded his life, taking him up on his offer of help almost immediately.

The first conversation they had had been a tense one, where he was certain he offended her multiple times with his clipped responses. However it didn't deter her for she was back the following day. The first cordial conversation with her happened the second night he was in Kirkwall, when she came to escape the drunken game of Wicked Grace going on at the Hanged Man. She talked to him, asked him questions, probed for an opinion, treated him like he had never been treated before.

Taking another drink from the bottle, Fenris watched her shift, sitting up. Payton Hawke was a woman he had yet to figure out. Some part of that frightened him at a base level, not being able to understand someone meant their actions were unpredictable and that was dangerous for someone on the run but he couldn't quite bring himself to leave.

As though she realized he was thinking on her, she slid her hair tie into the book, marking her page and then shut it. Looking up at him with eyes sparkling, she grinned. "I feel terribly rude," she admitted. "Ignoring you like that, I was just in the middle of a chapter,"

Fenris waved it off. "You were reading," he excused.

Hawke's smile brightened. "I loved this story when I was a kid," She said setting the book aside, her fingers trailing on the leather cover. "My father bought me it as a present, saved two years to buy the copy. The lettering on the cover shimmered in gold and every so often there was an illustration," A dreamy look was on her face. "He had to rebind it three times with how often I read it,"

"What happened to it?" the question was out before he could stop himself.

Her smile fell slightly. "Of all the things Bethany could have grabbed when fleeing Lothering, she grabbed my book, knowing what it meant to me," she bowed her head. "When we were preparing to," she stopped, unsure how to communicate the pyre that they built to bid farewell to the dead. "I found it, soaked with her blood," Payton let out a long breath of air, not quite a sigh but close. "I put it with her before we lit the flames. Seemed right," Her shoulders gave a little shrug. "A little of me died with her, I guess it was a little symbolic,"

While Fenris could not understand what it would be like to lose family like that, he could comprehend the allegory. "What is it about?"

Blue eyes widened, turning to him with surprise, the spark coming back to them. "You've never read it?"

Mutely Fenris shook his head.

"It's wonderful!" she started. "Have you ever heard of the Black Fox?"

The name sounded vaguely familiar but he couldn't place it. He told her such.

Hawke playfully looked as though he committed a horrible crime. "The Black Fox was really Lord Remi Vascal," she began. "He's often described as a dashing thief and rogue,"

He raised his eyebrows at that, wondering if that was where her talent had been inspired. With a mage for a father and sister, warrior for a brother, and gentile woman for mother a rogue's talents seemed lost in the mix.

"He robbed from the rich and gave to the poor, often coming head to head with this tyrannical lord of Val Chevin." She explained animatedly. "He'd put on a mask and appear in public purposefully disrupting the lord's plans. It got so bad that the lord put a bounty on his life, cursing the man with the cunning of a fox, which is where his name came about."

The simple delight that was on her face as she described the story entranced him.

"There's this bounty hunter that takes the job, Karolis. He was good at his job, never caring who he brought in, whether the charges were true or false, all he cared about was doing his duty."

Fenris shifted. When he was a slave it was much the same, if Danarius told him to do something he would do it without question.

"Karolis hunts down the Black Fox, catching up to him again and again but Remi's cunning and skill always manages to gain the upper hand and he escapes. The game of cat and mouse is played for a while until Karolis has a change of heart,"

"What changed?" Fenris blurted by accident.

Hawke didn't seem to mind. "Depends on the version of the story, to be honest," she admitted. "In this one, he saw the people Remi was helping and how much he made a difference. The next time he came across the Black Fox, Karolis offers to join him."

Foolish, Fenris thought idly, if the rogue allowed the bounty hunter to do so. At any moment the bounty hunter could turn on him and collect what would be a substantial reward.

"They spent years terrorizing the lord's men, foiling his tax collectors, making the lord look a fool." The concept seemed to amuse her. "More join his group over the years, including a woman with whom a romance ensues,"

"Of course, what would a story be without a good romance," Fenris mocked, repeating the words he had heard Varric say to her one night at the Hanged Man.

She childishly stuck her tongue out at him. "Some stories work just fine without romance," Payton retorted.

"I'm sure Varric would object most strenuously,"

Huffing, she pouted. "Varric can shove it,"

Fenris laughed.

Payton's face scrunched up in a way Fenris found rather cute, her freckles standing out. "Most romances have girls as these wishy-washy creatures that need to be rescued," She shook her head. "No, give me Andraste without the hero worship, a woman who escaped from hell and fought back," Her cheeks flushed as though she just realized the similarities between him and Andraste. "Or Ser Aveline, of course not dying would be nice,"

"You do realize that neither of those are romance stories," Fenris pointed out. He was surprised to see a blush flood across her cheeks.

"Not the way I told it when I was younger,"

He arched his brows, anticipating, knowing that she would tell him if he waited long enough. True enough Hawke shifted, looking down.

"You've heard of Shartan, right?"

Mutely he nodded, the name was taboo in some circles in Tevinter but every slave knew of the elf that joined Andraste's rebellion.

"I liked him when I was younger. He was like Andraste," a small smile played on her lips. "Strong, willing to fight for what he believed in," Payton was fiddling with strands of her hair. "He encouraged the elves to rise up, fight for freedom,"

A small suspicion began to grow in his mind as where her story was going to go.

Chewing on her lip, she continued. "When I was a kid I made up this elaborate story where Shartan and Andraste meet on the battlefield, fighting the Tevinters. With the help of the army each of them raised, they were victorious. She would invite him to join her camp, elves and humans mingling, their cause the same."

Her smile quirked to the side as she spoke sheepishly embarrassed. "I envisioned this whole forbidden romance between them. When Shartan hears of Maferath betrayal he led a force trying to save her." A dreamy look of longing was clear in her eyes. "The love he felt for her was so strong that he would brave anything for her, even if she was never his,"

Fenris gazed quietly at her.

Abruptly Payton shook her head and he was mesmerized at the movement her long hair made in the firelight. "Sometimes I would pretend they escaped, Maferath dies and they live happily ever after,"

She bowed her head, looking at her hands. "Carver hated that version, told me if I was going to change the story of Andraste I should keep her as the hero she was. So I made up a different ending. Shartan is captured in his attempt to rescue her and murdered before her eyes. Andraste accepts her fate after that and goes to the stake ready to die,"

The two of them fall silent, each lost in their own thoughts.

The idea of Andraste falling in love with an elf would be sacrilege to most, he'd wager. He smiled picturing Sebastian's face if Hawke ever shared her version of the revered woman's story. The Chantry Brother would probably die of shock.

Part of him liked her version of the story; somehow a romance between two people who fought tirelessly for freedom was very appealing to him. Fenris had never given much thought to romance; that sort of intimacy would require a closeness that he had never had with anyone.

Unintentionally his eyes shot to the woman in front of him. Except Hawke, a soft voice that sounded entirely too much like Varric for his liking stated.

* * *

Restlessly Payton rolled over on the bed again. For the life of her she could not sleep, her thoughts refusing to let her be. Sitting up, she scooted to the edge of the featherbed. The fire in her hearth was still burning nicely, providing warmth. Outside the storm crashed, rain pelting the windows, wind howling, thunder rumbling; turbulent, much like her thoughts.

What possessed her to tell him that story?

She rubbed her head, burying her fingers into her hair. As she retold the story, Payton had quickly became aware exactly how much her childhood fantasy reminded her of Fenris. Shartan's persona in her tale depicted a strong warrior, brooding and introspective, a man who fought for freedom with every fiber of his being.

Her mind was unfolding, quickly showing her points where they had acclimated to each other the way she had always imagined her Andraste and Shartan to do. Maker, she cursed silently closing her eyes. She could _not_ do that to him. The last thing Fenris needed was her falling for him. His life was complicated enough.

Payton stood, deciding she obviously wasn't going to get any sleep. Heading over to the desk, she searched for her journal. Confusion came over her when she found it was missing. Turning to her bag she searched the contents twice over before dumping the bag out. Metal case with extra graphite, her sketching book, emergency rations, whetstone for her daggers, canteen, first aide pouch, her hands spread out the mess.

Suddenly she remembered and then grimaced. She had been working, or attempting to work on who to bring to the Deep Roads while she waited for Fenris to return that morning. Now she remembered perfectly; when he came back she put her journal down on the table in order to wrap him in a blanket. She must have left it there.

Biting her lip she debated for a moment before giving her head a firm shake. No, she'll just continue reading the book on the Black Fox. Turning, Payton took two steps away from the desk and stopped.

The book was in Fenris' room, by the fire, where she left it.

Looking up, Payton silently questioned if the Maker was screwing with her on purpose.

Blowing a strand of hair out of her face, she contemplated what to do. Her eyes drifted to her sketching diary, briefly considering seeing if she could draw until she got sleepy. Sighing, she finally dismissed the idea. She was too wound to sketch anything; either she went to Fenris' room to get one or both of the books or she sat there twiddling her thumbs, praying for sleep to come.

Decision made, she crept from her room again. Just like the night before Fenris' door shut but not latched. Pushing it open she slipped in, heading toward the table where she left her journal. Payton had just collected it when she looked toward his bed.

He was on the mattress, blanket tangled around his waist. Abruptly he turned over, curling in a tighter ball, his breathing heavy. Around his bed, just like before, were bottles that she did not remember seeing earlier. A quick count made her draw in a sharp breath. Six bottles, did he serious drink six bottles of wine himself?

Without meaning to Payton walked over to him, her journal forgotten on the table. As she got closer she could see his face contorted in a dark look, fear and pain written on those features. Swallowing hard, her heart went out to him.

Was he always plagued with such nightmares?

Chewing on her lower lip, Payton remembered the first time Templars almost caught her family. She had been young, maybe six, and watched her father kill two of them. One came up behind her and grabbed her, threatening her life if her father did not give up. The speed in which her father killed that one was terrifying to her as a child. For weeks she had nightmares. Her father would stay up, comforting her.

During those weeks his constant reassurance was what she had needed. He didn't hide from her the truth of his actions. When Bethany had her first display of magic, she remembered her resolve even as a child. She had gone to her father and announced she would protect Bethany the way he did her.

Despite her mother's objections, her father said he was proud of her. Strength comes in the moments when no one is watching, he would say to her. A hero is someone who does the right thing even when it is hard. They do what is needed despite fear. Being a hero doesn't mean not being afraid, her father told her, it meant that some things were more important than that fear.

Payton looked at Fenris. What was the right thing? She had stayed the night before because of the moments respite she seemed to give his sleep. He had listened to her, did not judge her and that comforted her. It was what _she_ had needed. What did he need?

Her hand ghosted out on its own volition. Fenris recoiled at her touch, even in sleep fearful that it would harm him. Brushing her fingers through his hair, Payton watched his face unclench and he leaned into her touch.

Closing her eyes, she felt her heart ache. Leaving him to weather his nightmares alone could not even be considered. Payton wanted nothing more than to erase that pain lining his face, convince him that nothing will hurt him any longer; not while she was there.

Maker's breath, she cursed looking down at him. She _was_ falling for him.

Sliding onto the mattress hesitantly, she settled against the wall the way she had done the night before. Her hand immediately began running through his hair, lightly tracing her fingers across his scalp. Visibly he relaxed.

What was she doing, she wondered. How could she fancy him?

Payton felt him shift and she froze, terrified that he was waking. He didn't.

It wasn't that she had an objection to him; quite the opposite, in point of fact. Fenris had many things about him that she admired. His drive to fight for freedom, his passion, his veiled wit, she enjoyed these things about him.

Many of the others in her group found him broody and standoffish but she had noticed that, with the exception of the mages and Isabela, he would only act that way if he didn't understand something. She had come to recognize the look he got when exposed to something unfamiliar to him; it was akin to guarded curiosity. He was also incredibly defensive about what he didn't know, as though somehow ignorance was embarrassing.

Holding back a small laugh, Payton connected it to the look he had given her earlier, while she had been naked. He hadn't known what to do and ended up making an embarrassing situation horribly awkward.

She loved the way his brow would furrow when he was trying to puzzle something through on his own. The tips of his mouth would turn up and his eyes gained a soft innocence to them that she could safely say was rarely there.

Part of her knew that she confused him. He would gaze at her with the same look as though she was a problem he could work through. Never let it be said that she didn't enjoy keeping people on their toes, it was somehow endearing the way he tried to understand her. When he couldn't he would just look at her with quiet contemplation.

Payton closed her eyes. She could remember the first time she saw him smile; his low chuckle at her unabashed flirting. The more she got to know him, the more she found herself craving those moments where she could make him laugh.

Her hand stilled. What was she doing? Fenris had enough problems in his life without her adding more.

Looking down at the elf, she bit her lip. Slowly she brushed her hand through his hair again. He had led such a hard life so far. All memories of any family he had burned away with the lyrium; abuse at the hands of his 'master', the constant fear of being recaptured after he managed to escape.

Studying his face, she wondered what he dreamed about. Was he being haunted by his life as a slave? What horrid things did that Blight-damned magister do to him? Did the fear he might one day be recaptured trouble him even in sleep? Would he ever rest peacefully before that man was dead?

A thought occurred to her. If his memories could be stolen once could it be done again? The idea sickened her. What if what caused his memories to disappear had nothing to do with the lyrium? What if Danarius had purposefully erased Fenris' past to make him more pliable, to forcibly mold him into the perfect slave?

Not that it worked, she thanked the Maker. If it did the Tevinter Imperium would have taken over Thedas again, this time wiping the mind of any who dared oppose. Some might revolt despite it; there would always be a few whose core could not be changed and they would be quickly made an example of.

What were people but a sum of their memories, their experiences?

Fenris had rallied beyond that. Having no memories before the lyrium, no memories before Danarius, he still rebelled. He broke free from the bonds of slavery and ran.

Payton wondered what caused the change. Something changed in the 'relationship', she'd wager. Something had to have triggered his sudden need for freedom.

She had seen it in his eyes on the few instances he spoke of his past. He _had_ been an obedient slave, eager to please. Danarius was all he had known. She knew something dark laid there, that something more than hard labor and physical abuse (or magical) was there. It would be easy not to think about it; to pretend that it didn't affect her.

But it did.

Maker help her, it did. Payton burned inside; the injustice of it all. Other countries had to know that some of the slaves in Tevinter were captured outside the Imperium's boarders. She had encountered nests of slavers in Kirkwall—one now very dead group had holed up in the Amell estate. Slavers operated out of every country and the leaders did little to stop it other than issue edicts.

How did that help people like Fenris? Outlawing slavery but still allowing bounty hunters to drag escaped slaves back was no solution.

After meeting Fenris she had gone to Aveline and Varric separately, wishing to learn as much as possible about how to keep the newest member of her group of misfits safe. She had been disgusted to learn that if Fenris was caught, Danarius could make a legal case that Fenris was in possession of stolen property, namely himself, and Kirkwall would be forced to hand him over. Varric had little help to offer other than saying if the Deep Roads panned out they both would have enough money to pay off the main hunter factions to keep Fenris safe for a little while.

The idea that Danarius could walk into the city and take Fenris caused her blood to boil. She had always been fiercely protective of her friends and she didn't care if the man was a magister or the high king. Silently, Payton swore to the Maker. She would help Fenris kill Danarius if it was the last thing she did. She was no Andraste; no war would be rallied in her name, no march for freedom against tyrannical oppressors. But if she did could be remembered for one thing it would be that.

Helping Fenris secure his freedom would be enough for her.


	6. Chapter 6 Day Three

**AN**: Thanks for all the favorites and follows, here's some yummy candy for you. And here's some cookies for all the reviewers! I love hearing what you think!

* * *

_Day Three_

It was becoming a common occurrence. Feeling rested, truly rested, had been something he had done without for ages. Now, two nights in a row even, Fenris awoke feeling as though he had slept peacefully. So often his nights had been wrought with nightmares, half lidded sleep, always alert for the chance he could be caught. Alcohol dulled the dreams but did little to stop them.

Gathering up the bottles he had fetched after Payton went to bed, he put them in the corner, not necessarily trying to hide them but he didn't really want her knowing how much he drank. He completed his quick morning routine, pausing only once when a particularly loud clap of thunder sounded.

He could see that her door was open when he went to find her. Hovering in the doorway, not wanting to intrude, Fenris found her sitting at the desk that had remained as one of three pieces of furniture in the room. She was bent over a book of some kind only this one had blank pages that she was filling with her own writing.

A smile stole across his lips as he saw she had left most of her hair down. True to her word, she had gathered the strands that were most likely to get in her way and secured them back with the same clip she was using the day before. On closer inspection, Fenris realized that the clip was actually in the shape of a hawk swooping down toward prey.

Idly she glanced up and then let out a gasp, her hand going to her chest. "Fenris!" she exclaimed. "You startled me,"

"Unintended," he said watching her smile. "I came to ask if you would like to join me for breakfast,"

"I'd love to," She turned to the book she was writing in and moved a ribbon on the page, the edges of it sticking out beyond the end of the book. Shutting the book, Hawke stood and blew out the lamp that she had placed on the desk. "Shall we?"

Fenris stepped aside to let her pass. She entered his room ahead of him and immediately plopped down in what was quickly becoming her spot in front of the fireplace. Shaking his head, amused, he brought over the bread that Varric had given him the day before. There had been two more loafs in the bag he discovered.

Without thinking, he sat on the floor across from her, stilling when he saw a smile bloom across her face. He realized, a moment later, that she was smiling because he had joined her on the floor rather than sit on the chair away from her. Ducking his head, Fenris quickly broke the bread.

"Did you know you have food in the pantry?" she suddenly asked part way through her half of the bread.

Fenris paused and looked at her, bewildered. He vaguely remembered her saying something to that effect the yesterday. Finally he shook his head in answer to her question. He had barely looked in the pantry when he 'moved' in.

"It's not much," Hawke said between bites. "Enough for one or two meals at most," She stalled looking rather embarrassed for a reason he couldn't fathom. "I was wondering if I could make us supper tonight?"

Fenris stared at her. No, he couldn't have heard that right. Did Hawke just ask if she could make dinner?

A flustered look appeared on her face. "Don't get me wrong," she began quickly. "Bread, meat, even the cheese the other day, it has been a wonderful change from the grub that I normally eat at Gamlen's,"

Fenris found hints of amusement creep into him at how worried she was that she had offended him.

"It's just," Her words slowed. "The stuff I saw down there is enough for some stew," a small smile danced across her face. "I even saw enough supplies to make the biscuits that mother taught me,"

"If you wish," It made no matter to him if she used the items; he hadn't even known there was anything down there beside the wine.

Payton beamed her thanks at him.

Bowing his head, Fenris tried to hide the half smile that was on his lips. Despite what she had told him before he was still having a hard time picturing her cooking. The image of her in the kitchen elbow deep in dough floated in his mind.

He had been to the kitchens in Danarius' estate a handful of times and seen some of the food preparation. It wasn't that he didn't think she had to skill to create food; it was more that the only thing he had ever seen her excel at was fighting.

Fenris bit back a chuckle when the picture in his mind changed to her charging at the dough with her daggers. He didn't really know what went into making a meal. The most he ever did while he was on the run, besides steal, was hunt and roast wild game.

Unwillingly his mind turned to the Fog Warriors. A small frown replaced his amusement. He had seen the stews they made. Giant cauldrons bubbling over the fire with things he had never seen before tossed in at random. It had been hearty, good even, but he had no idea how to replicate it.

Eating the last of his bread, Fenris glanced at Hawke. Two bites later she finished, brushing crumbs off. Getting to his feet, he went toward his sword, readying for another day. He paused as he strapped it onto his back, realizing she was staring at him.

"Do you really do the same thing every day?"

He blinked.

Payton had a barely hidden look of curiosity on her face. "Every day you spend practicing with your sword," Her blue eyes flickered to the blade and then back to his face. "Don't you ever get bored doing the same thing every day?"

Fenris shifted uncomfortably. It was an odd question to him. "What else would I do?" he finally asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know," the rogue admitted. "Knit, read,"

Fenris flinched.

"Write," she didn't seem to notice. "Learn wood carving," She cast a glancing look around the room. "Clean the damned place,"

He stiffened.

"Find something you enjoy doing, not just something you're good at,"

"Am I a servant to be forced to clean?" he growled. "But of course what other use do I have?" he mocked, the bitter hurt that she would suggest such a thing burning in him. "Do you think of me a slave, Hawke? That I should scurry about in the shadows to make this place habitable for the next mage or slaver that comes?" Fuming he glared at her only to realize she wasn't glaring back.

A distinct look of surprise followed by hurt fluttered across her features before he watched a mask hide both emotions.

"I don't think of you as a slave, Fenris." Her words were quiet and ringing with truth.

Fenris stared at her. Everyone thought of him as a slave or servant. On his 'travels' he had frequently been treated like one whenever he entered a town or city. The looks people gave him, the distrust, the disgust, it was always there. Except in her, that stupid annoying voice that sounded like Varric poked him.

Hawke had never looked at him like that. She had never said veiled comments about where he 'belonged', never treated him with any less respect than she treated others—he knew that. More than once he had even seen her reply scathingly to anyone who dared refer to him as her servant when they traveled together.

Closing his eyes, Fenris felt the bitterness ebb away. Find something enjoyable to do, she said. The concept of doing something for the sake of doing it rather than because it was necessity was foreign. Slaves don't have time for hobbies. Slaves don't have time for anything but their duties.

He looked back at her. Maybe that was her point, he wondered. He was free but he still acted the slave. All he did was ready himself for the next mission, prepare himself for the next time hunters came, there had been nothing else for him.

"What," the word came out before he could stop it. Hawke glanced at him. Knowing he now had to continue, Fenris swallowed hard. "What do you do?" She tilted her head to the side as she looked at him. "For fun?" he needlessly elaborated.

Payton licked her lips, an embarrassed blush teasing across her cheeks, drawing attention to the small smattering of freckles on her nose. "Draw," she admitted softly. "I sketch,"

"Draw," he repeated.

"I was never able to capture things with words, Bethany was good with that. She could write stories down like Varric," She shook her head, lost in thought for a moment. "Instead, I draw them. Pictures of places, people, the things I see,"

Fenris saw a lightness enter her eyes as she thought about it. Even talking about drawing seemed to make her happy. It confused him. Doing something for the sake of happiness sounded like a wonderful concept but he didn't understand.

"Would you," she hesitated when his eyes bored into her. "Would you like to see some?" Hawke offered. "They aren't great or anything but…"

Without meaning to, Fenris nodded. He watched her get to her feet and brush by him. Following silently to her room, she fetched a different book than she was working in before off the table. It was bound in leather and had a buckle to keep it shut. When she turned back to face him, book in hand, he saw a marked about of vulnerability in her face, as though she was nervous about showing him.

Payton handed it over to him. "Just promise me one thing,"

His eyes were on her again.

"Don't tell Varric I draw." She bit her lip. "If he or Isabela catches wind of it, my art will be littering Lowtown before the end of the night,"

Giving her a small nod, Fenris looked at the book in his hand, unsure exactly what to do. He had never thought to look at art. He, of course, knew it existed and had seen many paintings before, most of them in the Chantry or decorating rooms of importance in Danarius' mansion. But art was just another, well, thing to him, it served no purpose.

"I'm just," she motioned to the doorway, a marked blush on her face. "I'll go start on the meal, it'll take a while to make," Like a scared deer, she skidded around him and he watched her disappear down the stairs.

Fenris looked back at the book. Finally he turned on his heel and went back to his room, removing his sword and gauntlets before sitting down in his chair.

The book's leather was worn but seemed to hold. The covers were stiffened by a piece of wood wrapped in the brown animal skin. Unbuckling the book, he opened it and then rotated it to face the right direction.

A field with rolling hills and a stream stretched on the page. There was a figure in the distance near a tree, a dog leaping in the air toward a stick the person was holding. Though done in gray, the picture was vibrant. Details one never thinks about were captured. Somehow Hawke had captured a gentle breeze blowing the grass and leaves of the tree, a scattered few bugs, even the stream appeared to be moving.

The art felt alive.

A picture of Hawke's mother smiling followed, then her mabari, Mutt he recalled the animal's name, rolling on his back, tongue hanging out. Innocuous things were drawn, two people huddled by a fire, the back of youthful looking man swinging a sword, an image of the night sky causing the shadowed person in the drawing to look small.

It was only a handful of pages in when he noticed the art changing from scenery to primarily focusing on people. At first the people were simple, several pages devoted to multiple angles of a single person's head with about three or more heads per page.

Fenris stopped when he came upon a picture with another person he recognized. Carver stood staring heatedly out. His face was more youthful and held less lines but it was him. What gave Fenris pause was that Hawke somehow managed to capture her younger brother perfectly in the eyes. The snarky attitude, almost daring the viewer to comment that he was lesser than his older sister shined clearly off the page.

Another drawing, this one of a girl he had seen in the art before—it occurred to him that she might be Bethany. Her face bore many features that were similar to Hawke's mother. The girl was gazing with the same tiny head tilt he often saw Payton doing. Loose curls were depicted framing the girl's wide-set face and she conveyed questions in her features.

Fenris didn't know what to make of it as he continued going through the book. As much as Varric could capture a story in a few simple words, Hawke had managed to capture life; a fragment of time drawn onto a page.

Campsites with men dressed as soldiers, a group of people laughing, Fenris wondered if she was drawing Ostagar. He knew she had been there and even on the run he had heard of the way the darkspawn decimated the armies.

There was a picture of Carver leaping in the air with his sword, a ghoulish creature beneath him, the monster seconds away from dying. A man with a full beard and hair pulled into a ponytail; lines around his face, darker skin, his eyes held a heaviness mingled with determination, a Grey Warden insignia on what showed of his armor.

It was here Fenris noted the pages became dirty; the edges on a few ripped, spots looking like dried blood staining the parchment. The girl he was now certain was Bethany was drawn with a staff, looking fierce, a spell in her hand, hair fanning out as she attacked. Aveline appeared in the following piece, helping a man to his feet. A dragon swooping down on one page with the image of an old woman he assumed to be Flemeth on the other.

He stilled at the following page. It depicted pain. Bethany was in the arms of Leandra, limp. Leandra was weeping. Many of the pencil strokes were harsh, as though Hawke had dug too deeply on the page.

The next sketch she drew was of docks, large ships floating in the water, he could spot Carver, Leandra, and Aveline in the picture. Soon after Fenris started seeing places he recognized. The Gallows, Lowtown, the Hanged Man.

Fenris found himself amused as she began to draw her life in Kirkwall. Gamlen and his shack, her dog by Carver's feet as the man slept.

He nearly laughed the first time he saw her draw Bartrand. In the upper corner above the realistic looking face was one far more childlike, crossed arms, sour look, dressed in a nappy and bonnet. Words were written tightly near it.

Varric was on the next page, a quick detailed image of Bianca in the corner. There were simple pictures, a fast sketch of a friend, and then elaborate ones, merry moments in the Hanged Man with Varric, Carver, and even Aveline. Isabela was drawn in a few places.

An image of the abomination in his clinic followed and, much to his chagrin, the mage's face popped up frequently in her art, sometimes a close up of his face as though attempting to capture an emotion, other times of him attacking. More than a few showed the mage looking out with barely veiled desire, something Fenris had seen him direct at Hawke on more than one occasion. For reasons he could not understand, it annoyed him.

Flipping the page Fenris froze. His own face stared back at him. The image was of the first night they had met. His face was looking sideways, hand clawed as he turned to look at the viewer. His eyes were narrowed in fierce determination and he seemed to glare out from the page, issuing a challenge to anyone who looked.

As he continued, Fenris saw his face turning up more and more amidst ones of Varric and Carver. It was then he saw it. It was one of the sketch types that she seemed to frequent, a single person in the middle of the page (though there was some cramped writing in the top corner). At first, he did not recognize it was of him.

The lone figure was standing, his back straight, shoulders squared. His head was held high and wind seemed to be dancing in his hair. The corner of his mouth on the page were turned up in a defiant smile, eyes calm.

For what seemed like forever he stared at the page, unsure what he felt while looking at the man. The man she had sketched didn't seem to be afraid that he had hunters chasing him, that a Tevinter magister wanted him back. He was strong, independent, _free_.

Was this how she saw him?

* * *

Stupid, stupid, stupid, Payton cursed herself as she kneaded the dough on the counter. What had she been thinking? That look on his face as she had been rambling, Maker, she never wanted to see him look at her like that again.

She hadn't meant to offend him. It was just the idea of doing the same thing every day that nauseated her. It was one thing when the repetitive thing was a job, money had to be made but to do it simply because, she shook her head. How could she have suggested cleaning to him? She was certain it wasn't one of his duties while…being slave, but the connotations were clear.

Payton punched the dough in front of her. He was upstairs now going through her sketching journal. No one had looked through it since Bethany died. Bethany had been the only one interested in her art; she often would sit for Payton and let her practice drawing people and emotions.

Blowing a strand of hair from her eye, she sprinkled a small amount of the remaining flour over the dough. Her cooking skills were not amazing, she knew, but she understood the mechanics of how to cook.

At Gamlen's, her mother would stretch their food budget as much as possible, thickening the stew with whatever they managed to bring home. Once the work with the Red Iron was done and she had started going outside the city, she had started hunting. It wasn't much, a few rabbits, a couple squirrels, once she had killed a fowl. The meat was nice, fresh, significantly better than the salted and dried meat they often consumed.

When rooting through the kitchen the day before, Payton had found meat in the ice box. It was unsalted and had only been kept fresh due to runes engraved in the box that held it. Twenty minutes it had taken her to sort through all the food, tossing the rotting and spoiled pieces away and setting the usable ones aside.

Stew was easy, she reasoned. Throw pretty much anything into stock and cook it and viola, a meal. Payton had briefly toyed with the idea of making trenchers; her family had cause to try it a few times when she was young. Some were simple bread bowls others intricate designs meant to hold soups and meals. But she had no idea how to make them other than with bread.

Thunder crashed loudly outside causing Payton to look toward the window. Would this storm ever break, she wondered. It wasn't that she minded; to be honest the storm's delay gave her more time to consider who she was bringing with her to the Deep Roads. Not that she had spent much time doing that the last two days. Any time she tried, she became distracted; or let herself be distracted as was yesterday's case.

She sighed, thinking of the morning. Like the previous day, she had awoken before Fenris; whether it be grace or luck she was unsure. At some point during the night, Fenris had shifted and his head was in her lap. It had taken her nearly five minutes to get up without waking the elf.

Part of her knew she couldn't keep doing it, sneaking into his room to comfort him simply did not result in a good night's rest for her. Despite her days in the army where she learned to catch sleep where ever she could, slumbering while sitting was unpleasant.

Starting to hum, she tried and failed to ignore her whirling thoughts.

Her feelings for Fenris troubled her. It wasn't that she objected to the idea. A small smile teased her lips as she pictured the raw passion that the elf might unveil if he cared to. His lips pressed against hers, hungry for—Maker, what was she doing? He was unobtainable, held himself at a distance from everyone; a bundle of sharp nerves and problems. The last thing he needed was her fantasizing about how much she wanted to kiss him.

A blush burned her cheeks. How had it gotten there already? She had gone from realizing she was falling for the lanky elf to daydreaming about his possible kissing prowess. She needed help.

It made sense, she supposed, on some level; her attraction to him. Since Fenris had walked into her life, aglow and bitter, he had consumed much of her thoughts. Of all her new friends, he was the only one who needed help but didn't dare ask for it. Even when Anso had hired them and Fenris discovered that Danarius might still be in the city, he hadn't asked for help, she volunteered.

So much of her thoughts seemed to be revolving around Fenris as of late. Without meaning to, Payton had managed to include him in almost every one of her group excursions. At first she had made the excuse she needed the extra blade, especially when Aveline was too busy to come and Carver was being a brat. Then she pretended she invited him along so that he would gain coin. But for the last week she went out of her way to get him to come with her, seeking his presence, even his sharp opinions.

He had become a constant in her life in the fortnight since he arrived; a figure in the background lending her support wherever she need it; even if all she needed was an ear to listen. Or a place to stay…

Sprinkling more flour, Payton frowned. Beyond Fenris, there were very few whom she felt openly comfortable with.

Sebastian got on her nerves in the exact opposite way that Isabela did. While Isabela was crass and made everything into sexual jokes (the blasted pirate was still trying to get Payton to sleep with her); Sebastian seemed nothing more than a little boy unaware that his actions have consequences. When she and Carver brought him word of the deaths he requested, he faltered; at first she was certain he was going to skip payment. Now he constantly rattled on about Chantry teachings; he was a hypocrite and didn't seem to know who he was let alone what he wanted.

Anders, Payton punched the dough a little too hard. He frustrated her; everything was so dramatic with him; ugh. The moment he heard that Bethany and her father were mages he clamped down and at every turn was trying to get her to rally behind his cause. It wasn't that she disagreed with the concept, Circles were _not_ being used right her opinion and something needed to change; setting every mage in Thedas free seemed entirely too foolhardy. Mages were dangerous; her father had instilled that in her from day one. Of course it also didn't help that Anders, despite saying that a 'relationship with him was impossible' or some such nonsense, looked at her with such puppy lust. Half the time she felt like he was undressing her with his eyes; it was uncomfortable.

Merrill made her uneasy, so innocent and yet dealing with such dangerous things, if not for Varric's request, she would have either killed the elf or turned her to the Templars; blood magic was nothing to be screwing around with.

Varric, she smiled lightly. Varric she liked, his humor was a perfect mirror to her own. But the dwarf was always looking for a story, a new yarn to weave. More than once after she told him about some exploit of hers, she would hear it being retold in a much grander fashion. One of these days she would have to have a talk with the dwarf, killing a dozen darkspawn with her bare hands when they interrupted her bath, she had yet to get him back for that one.

Aveline had been her confidant until the woman joined the guards. It wasn't that Aveline wasn't her friend anymore; the red-haired warrior still remained a steadfast companion. Aveline was just busy. Her guard duties had been the start of it, then came the mysterious pouch, now she was in line to become Guard Captain. It was good for her, it made her happy and by default Payton was happy for her, but she missed the nights where she and Aveline would comb the streets talking and killing bandits. It still happened on occasion but mostly the woman just floated her the information and Payton would slaughter the fiends on her own.

Carver was her brother. That in of itself made talking to him difficult, especially when what she really wanted to do was smack the brat across the back of his head. Bethany used to be such a nice mediator, calming Payton down when she got annoyed and gently defusing Carver when he became pigheaded.

She hadn't realized how much she missed just being able to talk to someone until Fenris joined their group. At first he was…Payton searched for the right word. Prickly, she settled on. Sharp, snide almost, but beneath his biting comments she recognized a carefully veiled intellect. While saying the first two jobs he came on had ended with them arguing might be an understatement, she had enjoyed the look of surprise on his face when she came by the following day to drag him out again.

His opinions were honest when given, no hidden agenda, no fishing for stories or nauseating innocence. When expressed, his thoughts were simple statements of facts. The only time he would ever outright try and change her opinion was when it came to mages.

It had been accidental, the first night she went into his house and shared a bottle of wine with him. She had walked him back to his estate because she had much on her mind and hadn't wanted to return 'home' yet. When they arrived at the mansion she had inadvertently followed him in which led to an invitation to stay.

Shortly after it became a ritual that she looked forward to, way to unwind away from all the pressures others put on her. No one needed her to solve their problems when she was here. No one was rallying for her attention, no one sought her blade. Here she was simply Payton Hawke, a sarcastic rogue with a quirky personality. She enjoyed that.

Fenris was so undemanding; unobtrusive. He didn't require her to carry on a conversation, they could and have sat in silence and it wasn't awkward. He had a way of making her open up to him. She loved to see the smiles he saved just for her. Fenris was a friend and she could easily see how she had started to fancy him.

Fenris was soft underneath that hard shell. He was funny. Fenris was—her eyes widened comically. Fenris was in the doorway staring at her!

He stood there gazing at her, his eyes twinkling as though he found something amusing. Her sketching journal was in his hand and, while he was armored, he did not have his greatsword with him or his gauntlets she noticed.

"Fenris," she greeted. Her eyes darted around the room, her hands frozen in the dough she was kneading. "Um, hi,"

"You have talent," he said quietly and it took her a moment to realize he wasn't talking about cooking.

"Thank you," she blushed. For some reason his smile grew. "It's just a hobby, really," she tried to dismiss.

He walked into the room. "Hobby or not, you are quite good,"

Payton couldn't help but beam under the praise. He was hesitating, that all too familiar look on his face. One of these days, she promised herself, he will ask questions freely without fear of reprimand.

"If I may," Fenris opened the book to a page his finger was saving.

If anything her blush went deeper. The page was one of the many drawings of him. He tapped something that was in the upper corner that she quickly recognized as her own cramped writing; this must have been one of the pages she went back over and had a thought on.

"What does this say?"

Biting her lip, Payton squinted at the writing. It was smeared slightly and she could defiantly understand how he had a hard time reading it. "We let our souls show when we think no one is watching," the words caused her to hold back a groan of embarrassment. She remembered going back and writing that. The sketch had been one of the first of Fenris that she had been truly satisfied with, happy she had finally captured the spirit she saw in him.

Fenris turned the book back to him, looking down at the page. For what felt like forever, he stared at it, his face bowed in such a way that she could not read it. When he looked up, she felt her heart flutter at the gentleness gazing at her.

"And this is how you see me?"

Payton blinked, eyes flickering to the page and then back. She didn't see any difference between the man she drew on paper and the man in front of her. "Um, yes?" she answered hesitantly.

Once again he was studying the page.

"I hope it doesn't offend you," she said nervously. His eyes were on her again. "I draw all of my friends. I mean, if you really wanted me to I could try to stop but sometimes I will doodle and—"

"You have not offended me," for the first time since she knew him, he interrupted her.

"I haven't?"

Fenris shook his head. "What you drew," he began. "People have rarely see me as anything but a slave." Payton started to object but he continued before she could. "Those that do often describe me as," He frowned but his eyes were still light. "Brooding," Fenris lifted the book. "This is not what they would see,"

"It's what I see," she admitted softly.

He looked at her silently, eyes roaming her face as though searching for some hidden lie. Payton bore the scrutiny; his looks were something she had gotten used to since befriending him. Going back to kneading the dough was the only thing she could think to do while he stared; determined not to look at him lest she loose herself in that intense gaze.

Was it a mistake showing him her art? She had only meant to encourage him to think beyond fighting, beyond surviving. When at Ostagar her art was one of the few things that kept her sane. Most of the men would spend the night getting drunk, singing songs, pretending there wasn't a war that was about to be fought. She would sit with them, listening, laughing on occasion but mostly drawing. It had been her reprieve.

It hadn't occurred to her that he might be uncomfortable with the idea she sketched him. In her defense she had pictures of all of her companions. Payton only hoped that he didn't notice how many of the drawings he occupied toward the end.

"You have flour on your nose," His deep brogue pulled her from her thoughts.

"What?"

Hints of a smile sparkled in his eyes as he repeated himself. Embarrassment flooded her and she flung her hands up to her nose only to realize she now had spread dough on her face. She let out a little squeak, horrified.

With a mild chuckle, Fenris walked toward her. Payton froze as he hesitantly reached out and brushed the flour and dough off her face. She wasn't certain, but his fingers might have lingered a little longer than necessary.

"Would you like some help?" He motioned. She looked down and then back up. He was offering to help her cook? "I know little of food preparation,"

Breaking off a chunk of the dough she scooted over on the counter. "Just imagine it's someone you're really, really mad at."


	7. Chapter 7 Night Four

**AN**: The rules I based Wicked Grace on in this chapter are from lotusflwr at tumblr . com, just Google it if you're interested. I can't believe I have 50 reviews! I feel so loved! Cookies and candy for you all! :D Thank you all so much!

* * *

_Night Four_

Sitting at a table and sharing a meal seemed odd to him. It wasn't the idea of sharing a real meal with Hawke that was strange; no, Fenris found the idea of sitting at a table to eat anomalous. He had never really given it much thought; while he was on the run he ate when he could. Even in Kirkwall there seemed little point to stand on ceremony when the meal was bread and dried meat.

Helping Payton in the kitchen was…an experience. Her initial instruction of what to do with the sticky mess had confused him. Imagine it was someone he was angry with? He still remembered her lilting giggle after he asked her how he was supposed to kill dough.

Half the time in the kitchen he had been certain he was doing everything wrong. When the dough was 'finished' she had set him to work on vegetables asking him to cut them. Handling a small kitchen knife was awkward for him and he nearly nipped his fingers with the edge multiple times.

Her ringing laughter as he concentrated was almost pleasant. Cooking was not something he would say he enjoyed but he would admit, he liked doing it with her.

Looking across the table at her, he couldn't help but smile at the look on her face as she ate. He had never met anyone with a face as expressive as hers. The simple act of eating seemed to be an adventure for her.

"Most of the stuff down there is cleared out now," she said conversationally as she scraped the bottom of the bowl. "There wasn't much left behind," She paused to take a drink from the cup she had put water into for herself. "The greens are all in the soup, you have a nice collection of spices should you ever wish to flavor something." Her nose wrinkled. "And there was some fish in the icebox."

He arched his brow at her. Fenris would freely admit that he disliked fish.

"I have to say; once fish becomes your only source of meat for a while you grow to hate it." She nibbled on the bread, pushing her empty bowl away. "Did you enjoy the fruits of your labor?" Payton teased wagging her eyebrows at him. "Or technically vegetables,"

Fenris chuckled. The flavors of the soup were significantly better than many of the stews he had eaten over time. "The meal was quite good, Hawke. You are an excellent cook," He was rewarded with the shy smile and faint pink tint coloring her cheeks.

"Not really," she dismissed. "Stew is really easy, you throw everything not rotting into a pot with some stock and let simmer for a few hours. Eventually it turns into something," Payton sniggered. "Once Beth and I convinced Carver that if he put tree bark in he could grow ten feet over night," She shook her head. "Mother was so mad at him when she caught him adding bark to the food. He was so lucky the bark he used wasn't poisonous,"

"Then I am glad your brother did not make the meal,"

Payton giggled. "He was never very good at making anything. The only flavor he excelled at was charcoal."

Silence passed between them for a few minutes.

Suddenly Hawke perked up. "I've got a pack of cards in my bag; you want to play Wicked Grace?"

Fenris nodded. "That sounds acceptable,"

She stood and disappeared into the other room only to return with a deck held together with a red ribbon. As she cleared the table, Fenris fetched a bottle of wine from the mantle and opened it.

"What is it tonight?" she asked nodding toward the bottle as she shuffled the cards.

"Antivan," he answered setting the bottle down on the table. "A different vintage than the one from the other night,"

Reaching across she took a sip and savored the taste. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly as he watched her.

"Not bad," she began to deal the cards.

Fenris agreed; while it was not the best of the wines they have shared it was good. Sweeping his cards up, he arranged them pensively. He knew she was waiting for the storm to break before telling anyone that she had raised the money for the Deep Roads. If his instincts about the storm were correct, it would likely break very soon, possibly even tonight.

Drawing a card he reordered his hand and then discarded. He knew she had been trying to decide who to bring with her and that the number was limited. While he had no desire to spend weeks underground with nothing but ruins and darkspawn surrounding them, Fenris felt a certain amount of fear at the idea of letting her go without him.

Idly he wondered why she was going in the first place. He had heard how the trip had the potential for great wealth but Hawke never seemed like a person to be interested in money. With how much coin she floated through the various people in her group, Fenris was certain that it mattered very little to her. So why go?

"I have a query, if I may," Fenris said after deliberation. She had always encouraged him to ask her questions if needed.

Her blue eyes looked at him inquisitively. "If your question is if I'll go easy on you," she laid the Angel of Death. "No I won't." Laying her cards, she grinned triumphantly.

Conceding her win, Fenris watched her gather the cards and reshuffle. "Why are you going to the Deep Roads?"

Hawke paused. "Glory, riches, the chance to bravely go where no one has been in ages," she shrugged. "You've heard the story,"

Fenris frowned. The tone in her voice made it clear that she was not telling the truth. Picking up his cards, he sparred them only a glance before settling his gaze on her. She sighed, blowing a piece of her hair out of her face and laying a card.

"It's complicated," she finally said. She took a long drink from the wine bottle before leaning back, a pensive look settling on her face as she played. "Did you know my mother's family used to be nobility here?"

Fenris gave a small nod; he remembered Carver bemoaning something about that one night in the Hanged Man.

"Well, my mother left all that when she fell in love with my father. Ran away," a smile spread on her lips. "Probably the only thing I ever admired her for,"

He raised a brow at the comment. It was common knowledge that the two of them rarely saw eye to eye. One of the many topics he had heard Hawke talk about when she visited him was her mother. She never really got over the hurt she had felt when her mother blamed her for Bethany's death.

"Leaving everything, sacrificing it all for the one you love," Payton nodded. "I can respect that." She sipped from the bottle and tossed a card into the discard pile. "When we came here to get away from the Blight, mother expected to step right back into that lifestyle. Leandra Amell back from being on the run with her Ferelden apostate; she would have been the talk of the town,"

Fenris picked up the Angel of Death and frowned at it. Putting a snake down, he waited for her to continue.

"Only none of that happened," She took another drink and glared at her cards as though they offended her. "The gates were closed; no one cared who she claimed she was. When the guard finally tracked down Gamlen we learned everything was gone. The estate, the title, the money, all of it,"

Part of him wondered what title she would have had.

"Gamlen's bright idea to get us into the city was to sell Carver and I off," Fenris stiffened. "Indentured servants for a year just for safe passage into a city that was so bogged with refuges we were just another face in the crowd," Hawke fell silent, brooding as they played.

"Was that how you joined the Red Iron?" he ventured.

She nodded. "I could have joined a smuggling ring but Aveline and Carver objected. Honestly, some days I think I would have liked it better." Payton drew and then discarded. "Athenril's group weren't killers or slavers, just as honest as you can get smugglers. Meeran was a piece of shit craped out by darkspawn and then pissed on by the Maker,"

Fenris chuckled at her vicious description.

"Carver wanted so badly to impress those thugs. As though being someone's sword was something to be proud of," Payton took another drink and then offered him the bottle. "One year we worked for him, one year where if I wanted my family safe and food on our table I had to kill and protect whatever or whoever Meeran told me to,"

Happy with his hand, Fenris laid the game ending card. She leaned forward to see his hand and grinned. Hers was better.

"Anyway," she dealt out five cards each. "Once we were free of him, I started poking around to what happened with the estate, not because I cared but because mother was miserable in Lowtown,"

Fenris grimaced at his hand, quickly discarding his snake card.

"Turns out Gamlen lost the estate to slavers over a dice game. I'm not sure what pissed me off more about that, the fact he socialized with slavers or the fact that they used my mother's ancestral home as a base of operations," She accepted the bottle back. "Anyway even if I didn't learn that Gamlen left grandfather's will in the vault I would have cleared the place out. I have to admit taking pleasure not only in killing every slaver in the place but leaving traps behind if any of them dared to come back."

A certain amount of satisfaction filled Fenris when he heard this; he had learned that slavers got her angry but she was one of the few people he ever met who did something about it rather than simply complain of the injustice of it all.

"So Carver and I get the will and find that Gamlen gambled away money that didn't belong to him," She bit her lip before dropping a card on the discard pile. "Grandfather left everything to my mother."

Fenris picked up the card she had placed in exchange for one of his.

"Mother claimed that it didn't matter, all that she cared about was the fact her parents didn't hate her,"

He studied her. "You don't believe her," he mused.

Payton shook her head, her long brown hair falling over her shoulders. "Not a jot," the answer was immediate. "The very next day she started talking about petitioning the Viscount for the title and estate back."

"And this somehow makes her untruthful?"

She sighed heavily barely looking at the card she drew before tossing it away. "Not necessarily. I just don't like it. She's abandoned the Hawke name, signing the letters she writes with Amell. All she talks about now is how good it will be to be back in Hightown and how she'll enjoy visiting old friends again," Payton shook her head. "If they were really mother's friends, they wouldn't care that she's a title-less widow in Lowtown,"

Secretly, Fenris wondered if her view on friendship was idealistic; though he was willing to admit that he knew little of friends so he was not the best judge.

"Unfortunately for her she needs money in order to get anything heard in this town, not fancy letters or old contacts she hasn't spoken to in over twenty years," Payton frowned ending the hand. "Your game," she said before offering the cards for him to shuffle. "Then word of Bartrand's trip almost gets dumped in our lap. I mean seriously, I was out hunting for a job that I could actually do when I run into the dwarf. He screams at me for getting in his way and then goes off talking to someone. That's when I met Varric,"

She chewed her lip and abandoned a card to the pile.

"The name I made for Hawke," she mocked. "While working for the Red Irons made him interested in me. Took Carver to the Hanged Man that night to talk over the crazy dwarf's idea; somehow between cheap ale and Carver's moaning, we got talked into helping fund the venture for a split of the profits. I swear, Varric can talk a fish into buying a mountain vista,"

Fenris' brow furrowed as he processed the information. "So your joining the expedition was," He paused. "Accidental?"

Her soft laugh rang out. "Not so much accidental as," she searched for a word. "I don't know, serendipity. Mother wanted coin to get her shiny estate back. Carver wanted a way to make a name for himself."

"And you?"

A cheeky grin was shot in his direction. "I'm suicidal; I'd have thought you'd learn that by now."

While that would explain many of her decisions, Fenris knew she was avoiding the truth.

Absently she discarded a high card. "I don't really know what I want," she finally confessed. "I've been so focused with the next task, the next thing someone needed from me I haven't given it much thought. I went from protecting my family to joining a war, from fighting to survive darkspawn to struggling to live in Kirkwall. I want to build a life but it's gotten to the point I don't know who I am unless I'm off killing something,"

On some level, Fenris understood.

"The life of a courtier is not one I want. And I doubt it's one Carver wants either but mother is the only family we have left. A large part of our decisions right now is to get her situated, happy," Payton pulled the top card from the discard pile.

"And after that?" Fenris found himself paying more attention to her answers than the game. "After your mother is settled, will you stay in Kirkwall?"

A familiar smile stole across her lips. "I suppose I could see myself staying," Her blue eyes sparkled as she looked at him. "For the right reasons,"

His words from their first conversation after she helped him liberate the estate made a warm feeling spread through him and he smiled at her.

* * *

There was absolutely no reason whatsoever that she should go over to Fenris' room tonight, Payton repeated to herself again and again. Over two hours had gone by since they went their separate ways for the night. At first she tried to sleep but quickly gave that up for pacing by the fireplace. Her mind was racing, inventing excuses for her to slip into his room and make sure he was sleeping well.

Firewood?

She had a nice pile of it in the corner.

Journal?

Both her sketch and her writing journal were on the desk.

Cards?

The deck was tossed on the table in the room to await the possibility of another game.

Hair tie?

She hadn't used one today.

Letting out a huff, Payton whirled around and sat down on the mattress with a thump, staring at the fire. This was getting to be ridiculous. It was one thing for her to accidentally see him and then help him but to go to his room with the sole purpose of insuring he didn't need her that night…

Running her fingers through her hair, she held her head in her hands. Today had been wonderful. After the rocky start in the morning where she inadvertently offended him, it had turned into a great day.

She hadn't expected him to come to the kitchen while she prepared the meal. In all honesty she had thought he'd glance at her sketching journal and then set it aside so that he could practice. But he hadn't.

Payton knew she had thrown him but she still wasn't sure why. He had said that people only ever saw him as a slave or as an overly brooding man. He did brood, she'd have to be blind not to see the moods he got into but there was always something behind them. It wasn't as though he brooded for the sake of brooding.

Then when he helped her in the kitchen; a warm feeling spread through her. It was a simple meal and the most preparation it required was the bread and the cutting of vegetables. But there had been a certain amount of…well intimacy as they worked; from her showing him the proper way to knead the dough, to instructing him to cut the vegetables after she washed them. When he tried to cut the vegetables up he looked as though he had never held a knife that small before—which of course sent her giggling as Isabela's voice sounded in the back of her mind teasing about the size of knives and swords.

At the meal he had asked her about the Deep Roads trip; not about the details of the trip, not about the money, or who would be joining the expedition but about why she was going. Of all her friends not a single one had asked her that; for Carver and Varric it was enough that she agreed to go.

Anders didn't care as long as she stayed safe and didn't ask him to come along. Isabela bemoaned the idea of spending that long without a good choice of men; Merrill had wondered what it would be like to go so long without seeing the sky. Even Aveline hadn't thought to ask her why she was going.

The fact that he cared enough to ask had sent a feeling that she could only describe as butterflies soaring through her.

Glancing toward the window, Payton frowned. The storm had been lessening for hours; now only the slightest hints of rain could be heard hitting the glass. With the weather passing she had to make a decision soon and she was almost scared to.

Leaving Fenris behind was becoming less and less of an option in her mind. Spending weeks away from him sounded awful. Where would she be without his sardonic remarks? His silent support, his soft smiles?

Groaning she fell back on the mattress staring at the ceiling as though it could hold the answers for her. She felt like a teenager again, heart pounding over that first crush. Her first crush had been on an elf in the town, much to her mother's chagrin.

Payton could still remember him vividly. His name had been Lupin. He would often bring items from the Dalish to sell. The first time they talked it had been because of a runaway cart. She had been walking down the street when out of nowhere she was tackled to the ground, a cart crashing into the spot she had been in seconds later.

His eyes were as gray as the full moon and he had stolen her first kiss. She fancied herself in love with him for a time, sneaking off to meet him where they would spend hours together. He would show her how to shoot a bow and she would teach him what she knew of swordplay. A romance it was decidedly not but at the time it was enough for her.

But teens were always fickle when it came to matters of the heart and she always felt that there had been something missing. In a very dramatic fashion they had parted ways and that was that. She had had flirtations with other men but never felt that same rush.

Until now, the stupid voice that sounded like Isabela teased mercilessly. The more she was around him the less it took for him to make her heart flutter; that soft smile he seemed to reserve only for her, his ability to make her laugh at anything, the unexpressed mirth he would hold in his captivating green eyes. Maker only knew how it had gotten so bad so fast. There were times she felt like she would do anything to see him smile at her again.

Of course none of this helped with her current problem, Payton looked toward her closed bedroom door. Closing her eyes, she inadvertently pictured Fenris. He had looked so peaceful, so serene when she woke to find his head in her lap this morning. It was a vast difference from the harsh lines that marred his features the last two times she had seen him dreaming.

Whether she was trying to excuse her behavior or not, she would readily admit that there had been a marked difference in his behavior when she soothed him at night. He hadn't seemed so clipped, so angry. His long silences and curt opinions obviously had remained but there was something softer with his words; an ease he seemed to feel.

Getting to her feet, Payton tiptoed toward the door, decision half made. She would see, that's all she was going to do; see if he was having nightmares again. If he wasn't she would march right back into her room and go to bed.

The fire in his room was cackling, a log popped as she peeked in. He was not in the chair she had left him in. Sliding into the room, Payton's heart pounded in her chest. Sneaking toward his bed, she made his face out in the dark.

His dark brows were down, not in a glare but in a look that conveyed pain. Like the previous nights he was curled under the blanket, shoulders hunched. Every so often he would flinch, cringing back.

Licking her lips, Payton eased herself slowly onto the bed. At first Fenris shrank back, frightened. Reaching out, she gently brushed his white hair off his forehead. Repeating the gesture, she ran the tips of her fingers down his head. Little by little the lines bled out of his face, the tension relaxing.

Stroking his hair, she looked at the wall, lost in thought. Fenris' past colored so much of his present; even now in his sleep he bore the taint of the magisters. Chances were that even with Danarius dead, he would never be completely free of what they did to him. He would forever carry part of it with him.

The cheeky part of her personality said she liked a challenge. He would be one too, Payton reckoned. Even in their friendship there had been many times where she had said something that he had taken the wrong way; case in point this morning. The cleaning barb had only meant to be a tease, a joke about the dead body he had left in his foyer until she made him clean it out last week.

If she pursued anything with him beyond friendship, there would be many missteps, moments that would end in either one of them shouting at the other. Misunderstandings, hurt, there were so many things that could go wrong, that the logical part of her pushed as proof of why it would be bad.

Would it be worth it?

Biting her lip she looked down at the elf that was now sleeping soundly. He was slowly inching closer to her and she was certain his head would be in her lap again before the night was out.

Would the struggle be worth it?

Payton was not a romantic. Unlike Varric who loved weaving stories with tales of some sort of epic exploit, she leaned far more practical in that regard. In Varric's story he would probably write a dashing knight riding in to sweep her off her feet.

But that wasn't what she wanted. She wanted someone to stand beside her. Payton wasn't looking for some fantasy. Love, like life, was hard; it was struggle. It could make or break a person.

Running her fingers through the soft white locks, she frowned. Fenris, of all the people in her life outside of family, was the one person she was quickly discovering she couldn't stand to lose. What if he left? What if, when confronted with her feelings, he bolted? Could she take that chance? Was having him in her life more important than _having_ him in her life?

Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back. One thing was certain; whether she knew how deep her feelings for the elven warrior went or not, she would not push him; not when pushing him had the chance of him disappearing from her life forever.


	8. Chapter 8 Morning Four

_Day Four_

Birds chirping for the first time in days woke him the next morning. Sun was peeking through the window casting shadows on the floor. Fenris shifted and then froze, heart pounding in his chest.

Someone was touching him.

There was a hand resting on his head near the nape of his neck.

In one fluid movement, Fenris acted. His tattoos burst into life as he clamped down on the person's wrist, yanking them forward while simultaneously moving. Shoving the intruder to the floor with a thud, he straddled the person, pinning them down by the throat. He clawed his other hand, raising it, readying to plunge into the unsuspecting person's chest.

Startled blue eyes stared back at him, hands tugging at the one wrapped around the throat.

Startled blue eyes that he knew.

"Fenris," his name fell from her traitorous lips.

His glare made her silent. What was she doing? Here in his room? Touching him! Fenris' thoughts became turbulent as he tried to slow his rage to understand. "What are you doing here, Hawke?" each word dripped from his voice with deadly venom.

She swallowed hard, her throat moving convulsively beneath the hand he had yet to move. "I can explain," her hand tugged at his, trying to remove it from her neck.

Fenris glowered. He had trusted her. He had let her in; into his home, into his life! He had told her things he never shared with anyone!

"Fenris," the pleading sound in her voice grated on him. "You've been having nightmares and I just wanted to help,"

"Help?" he snarled, unintentionally tightening his grip on her throat.

Hawke drew in a sharp breath, fear entering her face. "Fenris, please,"

He hovered for a moment, rage boiling within. With a growl, he let her go, getting to his feet and moving away. She shifted, sitting up, her hand to her throat, hair falling down her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Sorry?" he snapped looking at her sharply. "It's an easy thing to say afterwards, I'm sorry," he mocked. "As though apologies right the wrongs committed,"

She flinched.

Frantically, he began to pace, trying to control the bitter anger he was feeling. How could she do this to him? "I let you in," he snarled. _I trusted you,_ his thoughts added silently. Gesturing madly toward the bed, Fenris looked at her. "And this is how you repay me?"

"It's not what you think,"

"What do you know of what I think?" Fenris retorted. "What were you doing?"

"I was trying to help,"

"With what?" He ground out.

She ducked her head. "Your nightmares,"

His blood ran cold. "What?"

Two blue eyes shot to his face before dropping to the floor. "I didn't mean to, it just," she wrung her hands. "The first time I came in here because I needed firewood and I saw you having a nightmare. I tried to wake you but couldn't. By accident I ran my fingers through your hair. My father used to do that for me when I had nightmares. It seemed to calm you," The information flooded out from her. "You seemed to sleep easier, so I stayed. I didn't mean, Maker, Fenris, please understand I didn't," She stalled, unable to continue.

Fenris clenched his hands as he processed all that she had said. "The first time?"

She bit her lip, closing her eyes and gave a small nod.

His markings flared. "How many?" Fenris ground out, watching her wince. "How many times have you been in here?"

"Last night was the third,"

Rage exploded in him. Third? Three nights she had done this! Letting out a string of curses in Arcanum, he whirled around, slamming his fist into the wall lest he hit her. Three nights she had snuck into his room and—what, watched him while he slept? Reveled in the fact he had nightmares? It did not make any sense to him.

What was she planning? What use was the knowledge of that he had nightmares without knowing the content? Was she planning on mocking him sometime in the future? Using his weakness against him like others before her?

How dare she! How dare she use him! How could he have let her? How could he have let someone get so close to see him vulnerable? How could he have not woken! How could he have trusted her? Her! Had he not learned that she was the product of a mage? Hadn't he learned by now that nothing good came of magic!

Somehow she had tricked him. Somehow she had managed to convince him she cared. It reminded Fenris all too much of his early days with Danarius; how eager he had been to please the man. How the mage had convinced him that he cared for Fenris. Now he had fallen into the same trap. He believed he could trust her, he had _wanted_ to trust her.

"Fenris," her voice came from beside him.

Turning sharply, Fenris found himself face to face with her. A dark whisper entered his mind, taunting him, goading him to push his hand into her chest and crush her heart. Destroy the woman who had made him trust.

"Fenris, please,"

He scowled at her. "Please what?" his voice dripped with animosity. "Please let you explain how you enjoyed seeing me weak?" She started to object but he ignored her. "Please let you tell me how you planned to use me? How laughable you found gaining the trust of the runaway slave? Please give you a moment to try and excuse molesting me in my sleep?"

"It wasn't like that,"

"Vishante kaffar," he spat at her feet. "I should have known better. If there is one thing I've learned, magic spoils everything it touches." Fenris clenched his fists. "Better mages be drowned at birth than allow them to pollute the world,"

A look he had never seen before crossed her face and she took a step back. "You would condemn innocents just to prevent the possibility that they might cause pain?"

"What do you know about pain?" He shouted at her.

"What would I know of pain?" she repeated softly. "I was six when I learned why we were always moving, always running. I was six when my father told me why Templars chased us and what could happen if he wasn't careful. I was six when he explained that I might be a mage and the things that haunted my nightmares might be demons trying to use me.

"What could _I_ possibly know of pain?" Her voice shook. "What of the pain of a child learning that if her father slipped she would have to kill him lest he kill her? Or the knowledge that one wrong move, one wrong choice, one misspoken plea on her beloved sister's part and the child would have to slay her best friend?"

Hawke took another step back. "Of course in your world, my father would have been killed at birth or at the very least the moment he showed magic." Her blue eyes leveled at him "I would have never been born,"

Fenris glared at her.

Slowly she shook her head, swallowing hard. "I didn't come in here to hurt you, Fenris."

He scoffed at her.

"I did it," Hawke whispered. "Because you were hurting and you needed help,"

"I don't need your help," Fenris snarled heatedly. "I don't need you,"

She stared at him with an unblinking gaze; the hurt written on her face was quickly tucked behind an unreadable mask. "What do you want me to say? Do you want me to grovel for forgiveness? Get down on bended knee genuflecting until you believe me?" A steely look entered her face. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Fenris. I'm sorry you feel like I used you." She pursed her lips. "But I'm not sorry for what I did,"

The eerie blue glow of his tattoos flickered.

"I will _never_ apologize for helping someone when they are hurting. Especially not someone I care about,"

Fenris flinched at the look on her face. No, his anger bubbled, no! He would not believe her lies! "Get out of here, Hawke."

She bowed her head. Turning, the rogue headed for the door. Each step the dark voice goaded him. She used you; made you trust her. Do you think she won't do it again? Do you think she won't be waiting for a moment of weakness?

"And Hawke," he growled. She stilled looking back at him. "Don't bother coming back,"

* * *

Stumbling into the room he had lent her, Payton blindly went for her pack that was sitting on the chair. She had known better. Both journals were stuffed into the bag. She knew she shouldn't have acted on impulse with Fenris. Rushing to the table, she cursed when it toppled to the floor with a thud, sending her things flying. She _knew_ that he would misunderstand her actions and it would result in him raging at her just as he had.

Getting to her knees, she scrambled for her things. She had deceived herself. She had completely deluded herself into believing he would be all right; that he would explode but then somehow understand what she had done was not out of malice.

Cursing at the deck of cards now scattered, she gathered them as quickly as she could. The first tear that ran down her face hit the back of her hand. She stared at the water drop, horrified.

Blinking rapidly she stood. Forgoing her full armor, she fastened the vest on followed by the bracers and gloves. Her skirt and shoulder pads were awkwardly shoved into her bag. Forcing the flap to close, she stood.

What had she done?

Yanking her boots on it was a miracle she could lace them.

Her actions, the trust she had broken just cost her a friend. The pain that spread through her burned.

What had she done?

Securing her daggers, she picked up her pack. As though the Blight was chasing her again, she fled down the stairs and through the main room. Payton stalled in the foyer, hand hovering over the knob.

This was the part of the story where Varric would say Fenris came running, charging to stop her. If this was one of his stories, he would tell it that the elf would catch her just before she left, telling her he didn't mean it.

But this wasn't a story.

Turning the knob and walking out felt like getting punched in the gut. Sunlight poured down on the wet street, mocking her with the cheery morning. Her feet moved, taking her in a random direction.

How had it come to this?

Automatically she avoided the giant puddle at the bottom of the stairs leading toward Lowtown.

How had the simple act of comfort managed to screw everything up so badly?

Halfway down the path she turned toward the docks.

Fenris had trusted her. The man never trusted anyone and he had trusted her. And she…her steps slowed.

What had she done?

Biting her lip, she headed toward building at the farthest end of the docks, one of the few that stretched that far beyond the city. A little hide-away she had found shortly after moving to Kirkwall. The roof was accessible by a pile of crates that never moved and she had taken to sitting up there when she needed to think. She hadn't been there since Fenris showed up.

"Well lookie here boys," she would have walked into the owner of the voice if he hadn't spoken. Looking up she clutched the strap of her pack tighter. "Seems we have a little bird out for a morning stroll,"

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed movement behind her. A quick cursory glance over her shoulder counted three. "Unless you want to end up with a bad case of dead, leave me alone,"

One of the men behind her whistled. "This little bird has spirit,"

"I like spirit," another said in a sickening tone.

"If you cooperate, little bird," the man in front of her cooed. "We promise not to hurt you too much," He traced her cheek with hand that smelled of fish. "We'll even leave that pretty face of yours alone,"

Spitting in his face, Payton grabbed the hand and brought it down hard over her knee, satisfied when she heard the sound of it breaking. Spinning, she flung her bag out, catching one of men who started rushing toward her when his friend screamed in the gut. She landed a punch on another before going for her daggers.

"Bloody bitch broke my hand!"

"I'll break whole hell of a lot more than that," she rolled her wrists, swinging the daggers in a menacing fashion. "Now are you going to let me by or are we going to have a problem?"

"GET HER!" the man holding his wrist demanded.

Two of them charged her. Swordsmen they were not, as one ran his side directly into her waiting blade. The other managed to dodge just in time. Wisely the third picked up a weapon, which happened to be a hunting knife. He swiped it at her, trying to catch her off guard.

Blocking it easily, she locked his arm in the extended position and sent his knife scattering. Slamming her head backwards, she felt it connect with his nose, forcing him to stagger away, hands cupping around the squirting blood.

Strong arms circled her from behind, locking her arms to her side. Fighting, she tried to turn her dagger around to pierce the man in the leg but the man whom she had stabbed took them from her.

"Let's see how the bird fights without her weapons," he jeered.

Payton huffed, squirming until she moved her hand behind her. Clamping down she heard the man who held her let out a squeak, his grip loosening. Keeping a hold of the man, she spun around, giving the flesh a vicious squeeze. She spotted movement in her peripheral vision. Moving just in time, the man with her daggers impaled the other.

He let out a cry when he realized what he had done. Dodging back, Payton looked at the men. Broken Wrist was on his feet, a hunk of wood in his good hand. Broken Nose was looking in open horror at their dead friend. The man with her daggers had murder in his eye.

Letting out a war cry, the man who had her daggers lunged at her, swinging madly. She threw herself to the side, skidding on the floor out of his reach. Using the momentum, she threw her weight, springing to her feet in one fluid movement.

Broken Wrist was attacking now, using the wood like a bat. Ducking under the swing she stuck her foot out, causing him to trip and crash to the ground.

The man with her dagger caught her from behind, one of the blade slicing a thin cut along her arm before she could dart away. Use her daggers to injure her? At his next attack she sidestepped the blades, grabbing his wrists and giving him a good shove. Unbalanced, the man teetered and collapsed, his hold on her weapons releasing automatically.

Spinning in a circle, hair fanning out around her, she gutted Broken Wrist as he came at her again. A look of surprise filtered across his face before the life left him. Turning sharply toward the remaining two she glared at them.

"Neither of you need to die today, make a choice, now." She demanded.

Stab Wound backed up and then ran. The man with the broken nose looked at her and then to his two dead friends. "You're crazy," he whispered. "You crazy bitch. You killed them,"

"And you with them if you don't leave, now!" her eyes blazed.

He scrambled to his feet and fled, still muttering about how she had killed them. Looking down at the dead bodies she nudged the one she hadn't killed with her foot. The man appeared to be stabbed through the heart.

Shrugging, Payton picked up her pack and continued to her destination. Death hardly bothered her anymore; it wasn't that she was a sociopath or anything, but when someone asks for it like those men, she didn't bother feeling sorry.

Hoisting herself onto the crates, she scaled the wall onto the roof. Kirkwall stretched behind her, the imposing city filled with problems. In front of her was the Wounded Coast, the soft call of gulls, the sound of waves crashing.

Dropping her pack to the ground at her feet, Payton closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Salt water mingled in the air, tangling with the smell of the rain. It wasn't like Ferelden. Ferelden smelled of earth, of rain, even of dog. But this was the closest she could get without traveling up Sundermount.

Perching on a crate she had dragged to her spot a year ago, she pulled her knees to her chest, wincing when she touched the new cut on her arm. Those men should never have gotten that close to her; if she had been paying attention she would have spotted them and simply dodged them or waited until they left. She knew at least three different routes to this spot and she could have backtracked and took any of them.

This was just turning out to be a fantastic day and it wasn't even noon yet. In the short space of time since the sun rose she had angered a friend, quite possibly lost that same friend, had her heart feel like it had been shattered, been attacked and killed two people. Oh yes, she could scarcely wait to see what would come next.

Swallowing hard, she rested her chin on her knees. Had she lost a friend? Was Fenris out of her life forever now? He had defiantly sounded resolute.

Payton closed her eyes, Fenris' face popping into her mind. How cold, how angry he looked when he told her not to bother coming back… She never wanted to see that look on anyone's face ever again.

She had known; she had known he would react badly if he ever caught her. He was proud and she had known that. He saw having nightmares as weak; something a person could exploit. He believed that was the reason she had stayed with him each night; that she wanted to use his restless nights as leverage in some twisted way.

All she had wanted to do was help him; give him a reprieve from all the pain he had experience; all the hate that hounded his steps.

Now he was leaving.

Her eyes flew open, a sick feeling spreading in the pit of her stomach. Was he leaving? He had only told her to go. Even as she tried to hope he would stay, she knew he wouldn't. He had a very strong fight or flight instinct and after what was said, he would lean toward flight. There was nothing for him in Kirkwall any longer.

The very admission made her heart ache.

On the first visit she had made to him after helping him clear the estate, he had said to her that he could see himself staying in Kirkwall for the right reason; that perhaps making a stand with allies would be better than running. He had looked at her with those eyes, his lips turned into that witty half smile of his; teasing her.

Had she sent him running? Had her attempts to make his life better in fact made it worse? He had survived this long without anyone, could he continue? Would driving him from Kirkwall or simply separating him from the protection numbers brought be his undoing? Would Danarius swoop in and recapture him?

Payton shivered. All she had wanted was to make his life easier; her feelings for him aside, she wished he understood that. She wished he understood that she wasn't like the people he met before; she didn't want anything in return beyond friendship.

Slowly getting to her feet, Payton slid her pack onto her shoulder. Nothing she did now would change the facts. Fenris wanted nothing to do with her.

Burying her pain behind a mask, she set out toward Lowtown. She had a trip to the Deep Roads to plan.


	9. Chapter 9 Day Four

**AN**: Thank you everyone for your reviews, favorites, and follows. I appreciate your thoughts and opinions! :D

* * *

_Day Four_

The rest of the morning was worse than his nightmares.

Fenris paced in his room restlessly like a caged wolf, wearing a path on the stones in front of the fireplace. It had taken all his self-control not to attack her. The ire pulsing through his veins had taunted him, whispering ideas of how to make the woman pay for using him, for making him trust her.

Her fleeing footsteps had caught his attention and he waited, listening. The sound of the door opening reached his ears a moment later. Go, he thought; get out of here before death comes. At first he felt triumphant, running the traitorous rogue off but at the sound of the door closing something ached in his chest.

She was gone. Blight damn her, Fenris' tattoos flickered briefly. He should be pleased. That woman, that thing that made him trust was gone, out of his life forever. Somehow that fact didn't do anything to assuage his anger, if anything it made it worse.

He spun on his heel, glaring out at the room like it was the one that offended him. Her presence was everywhere. On the floor by the hearth, the table where they had shared meals, the bench she used in her previous visits, even his chair, he saw her everywhere.

Anger burning hot, Fenris let out a snarl, turning the table over, unable to get satisfaction as he watched the piece of furniture crash to the ground sending the few items atop it scattering along the stone floor. Kicking over the bench, he raged.

How could he have trusted her?

His chair joined the pile.

How could he have believed she would be different!

Sweeping one of the books off the ground, he ripped it in half, his markings fueling his strength.

What a fool he had been!

The bottles lined up on the wall taunted him with her memory, reminding him of the nights they shared. Grabbing one he threw it toward the opposite side of the room, the sound of shattering glass filled the air. Bottle after bottle, Fenris fumed.

Why had he allowed her close? Why had he let himself befriend her? No one did things for nothing! No one offered help without seeking something in return.

He turned, glowering at the fire in the fireplace, his thoughts whirling madly.

He should have known; he should have known the moment he learned there was magic in her blood that she was deceitful. Magic spoiled everything it touched!

Fenris swung out, punching the wall. "Fasta vass!" Pain radiated up his hand causing his anger to subside for a split second. He stared at his hand; blood was pushing through scrapes on his knuckles. Clenching the offending member into a fist, he dropped it at his side.

Turning to the room, Fenris stared at the mess he had made. He had been a fool to trust her, to believe that she was unlike everyone else he had ever met. She had used him, manipulated him for—instantly his mind stalled.

What _had_ she used him for? The voice that sounded like Varric chimed. She had come into his room at night and sat with him while he slept for what purpose?

As much he loathed admitting it, she was no mage, she could not traipse across the Fade and invade his dreams, to use the information gleaned against him. Did she enjoy seeing him weak, he wondered. Did watching him have nightmares give her the same sick satisfaction it had Hadriana?

But then, Fenris glanced darkly toward the bed, a frown tugging on his face. He hadn't really _had_ nightmares the last few nights. It wasn't as though he had none; there had yet to be a night that went by where his sleep was not interrupted by his fears or the memories of what the mages did to him.

His nightmares had been muted, as though lulled into submission granting him—Fenris jerked. Granting him the first restful night of sleep he ever remembered having. For the last three nights he had awoken rested, a tension that he hadn't realized he carried had eased in him. For three nights he had slept, his nightmares forced away.

She claimed to have been comforting him; that somehow her presence made his sleep easier, calmer. He initially scoffed at the idea. Having people around when he slept did not _calm_ him, it made things worse.

Memories of Danarius, Hadriana, his life as a slave plagued his sleep. Hadriana's cruelness hounded him now just as much as it had then. Danarius' cold manipulations, his touch; Fenris shuddered closing his eyes as though to block out the past, unable to control the lyrium that flared to life on his skin again.

Only, for the last three nights he had very little of that; there had been a few scattered nightmares. When she told him of what Gamlen did, he had drunk himself stupid before passing out. Danarius had held him in his dreams, taunting him with the truth. But he hadn't stayed, at some point during the night Fenris' dreams bled away and he had slept without fear. Likewise each subsequent night after, no matter the nightmare, something had dulled their hold over him, giving way to…to what? Calm? Peace?

Hawke said he had been soothed by her, that she had only stayed because it somehow had given him reprieve. The idea had seemed idiotic, a bold faced lie that he would have had to be stupid to believe.

Swallowing hard, he thought back on the events that transpired. He had scared her; he realized a moment later. And why not? When he had attacked he had thought an enemy was in the room; if he had not paused, if he had not noticed the blue eyes staring up at him—the thought caused his heart to skip a beat. He had been ready to kill. Even as he threatened her, she seemed more concerned for him than herself.

Fenris turned his back to the bed, scowling at the fireplace. The more he thought about it, the more his anger at Hawke vanished. There had been truth to her words; she genuinely wanted to help. And he spat it right back in her face.

He had lashed out at her without thinking, blaming the one thing that always seemed to screw up his life, charging even this problem on magic. He had essentially told her that he wished she had never been born.

Unintentionally, he stalled. Did he really wish that? His anger was bleeding away, the blind rage he had felt disappearing into something else. Did he really wish that she had never been born?

Somehow, despite it all, he did not think so. The idea of a world without Hawke was not a pleasant one.

Snarling, Fenris swept out the room, trying to stop from thinking. He hadn't even made it to the stairs before he stopped; looking toward her room—no, the dark voice corrected snidely, at the room he had let her use.

Three days she had been there. Three days she had stayed with him. Three days of her grace, her wit, her unobtrusive caring. Three days where his memories did not torment him. Three days where his thoughts were free, his opinions wanted. Three days where the pain in his past did not haunt him.

Fenris remembered mocking her, challenging that she had no idea what pain was. Incensed at the very idea she could possibly have something to compare. What did she know of pain?

But he was wrong.

She did understand pain.

He didn't remember his own family, not after the ritual. Fenris had no idea who his father was, whether he had any siblings, even if they were still alive. Until now, he had never given it much thought. He stood there, trying to imagine what it would be like learning as a child that you might have to kill your own father or preparing for the possibility that you might have to kill your younger sister.

He could not.

His feet moved on their own volition. Fenris stood in the doorway staring into her room. Embers that had burned in the fireplace were black, leaving the room cold, void of the warmth she always seemed to bring. The mattress was on the floor where she had had him position it, the blanket in a lump on the end of it. The table was overturned.

Something ached in his chest as he stared at the lifeless space. Fenris turned, intending to leave, trying to block whatever emotion that was trying to worm its way out of him, when a flash of red caught his eye.

Kneeling, he righted the table. A card circled by a loose red ribbon sat on the floor. Picking it up, Fenris fingered the ribbon. He had been surprised the night before when he saw she used a ribbon to hold her cards together; most just used a tin or scrap of leather. A blush had stolen across her face and she confessed that it was a keepsake.

On inquiry she had revealed that the ribbon had been given to her father as a secret message, a way to let her father know that Leandra loved him and was willing to wait for him, to run away with him. Her father had kept it for years and she had loved hearing the story of how he felt when finding it; how filled with hope he had been at the passive declaration of love. When her father died, she had told Fenris she found it in his things and ended up keeping it as a reminder of how love could persevere, through the hardest times or impossible odds.

Fisting it into his palm, Fenris glanced at the card. The Angel of Truth stared back jeering at him.

Growling, he got to his feet, going back into his room. What had this woman done to him? She occupied his every thought it seemed.

He began to pace again. Fenris had no doubt that she would take him at his word and not come back. In that split second, he decided he should leave too. There was nothing for him here in Kirkwall; not if—

Fenris paused, stunned at how his mind automatically finished the sentence. Not if Hawke was not there with him. Desperately he tried to rephrase it. Not if he could not count on Hawke; not if he no longer had Hawke's help, not if—nothing worked! Everything circled back to Hawke. There was nothing for him in Kirkwall if Hawke was not there.

That realization unnerved him.

Hawke. Payton Hawke. That blasted rogue with the amazing smile and blue eyes that looked at him like no one ever had. The only person who willingly tried to spend time with him; the only person who asked for his opinion and actually wanted it; the only person who cared about what _he_ thought; the only person he trusted to help him battle Danarius.

And he treated her like a traitor.

No, Varric's voice in his head was solemn.

He treated her like a mage.

The intense need to find her coursed through him. He had to find her, stop her, talk to her before she left for the Deep Roads. A new pulse of fear added to the one he was already feeling. Hawke was heading to forage through the Deep Roads. All that she had to do was talk with the dwarf and then she would be gone.

How quickly could a group of the size of Bartrand's venture pack up and leave?

Fenris struggled into his armor. He had to stop her; he didn't mean the words he had said. She couldn't leave without knowing. Part way through fastening his second gauntlet he froze.

Knowing what?

That he was sorry? It seemed insufficient. He had snapped at her in his fit of anger that mages should be killed at birth; thoughtlessly forgetting that not only her sister but her father held magic.

"_Of course in your world, I never would have been born."_

The words cut him like a knife. He had not meant that. The idea of a world without her, even one where he had never met her was hard to fathom anymore. She had become a part of his life in ways he hadn't realized; she, with her open smiles and expressive looks; she who chose to befriend him; she who made him think beyond his past and present, she who encouraged him to look toward the future.

The idea of a world without her was bleak.

* * *

No one was home when Payton arrived. She was more than grateful; even if it was only for a little while, the idea of seeing her family right now was not a very pleasant prospect. Dropping her pack on the desk, she thumbed through the letters that had arrived since she had been gone.

Walking to the room she shared with her mother, she worked on removing her gloves. There was much she needed to do. Pouring water from a pitcher into the wash basin, Payton splashed it on her face, taking in a deep breath. She raised her eyes to the foggy looking glass and frowned at the woman staring back at her.

Two blue eyes looked back, the slightest hint of tears staining the black lashes. Skin lightly tanned with the smallest hint of freckles due to sun exposure was pale. Long dark brown locks hung down over her shoulders, only half secured back in the hawk clip she had.

The woman looking back at her looked tired, vulnerable, sad.

She had almost forgotten what she looked like with her hair down. Other than a quick curtsy brush or the occasional wash, she hadn't worn her hair down since it started growing. She had only done it now because…

Fresh pain rippled through her. Swallowing hard, Payton almost yanked the clip from her hair, tossing it on the vanity as though it had offended her. Her hair cascaded into her face in gentle waves. Picking up the comb that was missing several teeth, she pulled it through her hair, working out the knots.

"_Perhaps you should wear it down more often,"_ Fenris' voice caused her to jerk, almost expecting to find him in the room with her. Scolding herself, Payton winced as she tugged a little too hard on a knot. _"Long hair suits you,"_

She dropped the comb down. Gazing at her reflection, she tried to push her emotions away. A thought fluttered across her mind to cut it, chop off the locks. No one cared about it anyhow. Fenris wasn't there to give her those shy smiles. Reaching for the dagger in her boot, Payton gathered a fistful of her hair.

Putting the edge to the strands she paused, not quite able to do it. She hadn't grown her hair to be admired. She had grown it as a passive tribute to her sister's memory. No matter what she felt now that fact remained the same.

Setting the dagger down, she closed her eyes. She had to get control of herself. Fenris wanted nothing to do with her; understood, grow up and move on; getting weak and weepy about it won't change facts.

Burying her emotions into a tight box, Payton moved, she had things to do. Turning to the trunk she gave it a good sharp yank, tugging it out from the corner. Prying two of the floorboards up, she pulled out the hidden contents. It may be Gamlen's shack, but the man had no idea how many nooks one could hide things in.

Kicking the trunk back into place, Payton turned to the items.

Varric had given her the new chest piece week ago stating he happened across it and hoped it would fit. She knew he was lying; she recognized the crafter's mark. He had had it made for her. He had noticed that her armor was falling apart and had more patches holding it together than anything else.

The vest was dark leather, secured in the front with a crisscross cinch. It was good quality, thicker than the armor she currently had but still pliable as to allow swift movements. Boots, solid sturdy boots had stunned her. She herself had chosen the design and commissioned them, had even gone in for measurements but ended up canceling the order when Gamlen took the first of the proceeds and spent it on a failed bet while at the Hanged Man.

Shoving a chair against the door, Payton pulled off the white tunic shirt she was wearing, grimacing at the cut sleeve that had her blood staining it. That would teach her to wear something with sleeves, she shook her head. Washing the gash on her arm best she could, she deftly wrapped it in a bandage, tying it off in a knot.

Payton shrugged into a sleeveless top and quickly fastened the leather vest over it. It was slightly tighter than her old armor but she reckoned that had more to do with age and use than improper sizing. Insuring the white top provided her with some level of modesty, she changed out of the causal linen pants into ones made of a stiffer material. It wasn't as free in movement but protected against attack more.

She pulled on her new boots, reveling in the comfort the black shoes provided. They came up to her knee, fitting perfectly. She walked the short space from wall to wall, bending, testing the mobility. Pleased, she quickly slid her dagger into the sheath that had been woven into the boot. Strapping another dagger in a holster on her thigh, Payton stood.

First things first, she began planning as she braided her hair. She had to go to Varric and subsequently Bartrand to tell them the money was raised and ready. After that she would have to make sure her mother was taken care of while they were gone, a few coins floated down Varric's chain of spies and she would be satisfied. Winding the braid around and twisting it under, she secured it firmly. She needed to contact the rest of the group, deciding who was going was the next largest objective.

A loud bang caused her to automatically reach for one of the knives only to relax at the deafening shout of: "SISTER!"

Nudging the chair out of the way, she sat on the edge of the bed, picking up the new bracers and running her finger over the design of the rearing hawk pressed on the leather. Predictably, Carver threw open the door to the bedroom without bothering to knock first, her bag with daggers attached in his hand.

"What were you thinking, leaving this out where mother could see? Blood all over it," he tossed it at her feet.

Payton glanced and realized there was blood on her bag as well as still staining her daggers. She hadn't thought to clean them after she was attacked in the morning. "She'd get over it,"

"You disappear for three days and that's all you have to say?" he demanded.

The cuffs of her fingerless gloves tucked under the bracers perfectly; holding them in place as she tied and buckled them. "What do you want me to say?"

"How about apologize?"

She stood giving him a passing glance before walking out of the room.

"You had mother worried sick!"

Payton didn't respond, climbing on the table and pulling herself up to the mini loft. Moving a few of the food supplies they stored, she pulled back another floorboard and retrieved the coin purse within.

Carver let out a long sigh. "Sister," his tone was softer. "Sister, please," she wavered before heading toward another one of her hiding spots. "I'm sorry for what I said," It strained him to speak. "I know you would not sneak out to the Deep Roads without me,"

Swinging down after salvaging another small pouch, Payton pulled the desk out. Sliding her finger into the knot on the wall she pulled the board out a little and twisted it to the side. Three more purses were safely hidden.

"Sister,"

"It's fine, Carver." She said emotionlessly, replacing the board and table. Two more hiding spots, Payton counted.

"Damn it, no it's not!" irritation colored his voice. "Gamlen told us what happened,"

She blinked, a mild amount of surprise filling her. Gamlen was a coward, owning up to something like that took guts she didn't think he had.

"I don't think he meant to, tell us I mean," Carver ventured quietly, a solemn look in his eyes. "He had the Maker of all hangovers the following morning and began moaning about what he did, how could he do such a thing," Despite herself, she flinched, looking away. "If it helps I broke his nose,"

Without meaning to she snorted, biting back a chuckle. That was the brother she knew; bitter every step of the way until someone hurt her.

"Mother ordered him to dry out, swore up and down that if he ever came back smelling of alcohol she'd bring him up on charges," Carver tried to comfort in his own way. "If attacking you didn't stick, she had plenty of evidence that he stole the property and wealth of nobility. That alone would condemn him for quite a long time,"

Setting the final pouches on the table, Payton went for her belt. Canteen strapped toward the back, medicinal pouch on her hip, a small pocket for smoke bombs within easy reach, she had to make sure she remembered to restock both before leaving.

"Where were you?" Carver asked watching her. "Mother's nerves gave out and I've been looking for you since yesterday."

She arched her brow at him; while finding her quickly would have been a challenge, it shouldn't have been that hard for him to track her down.

"Okay so I spent most of my time in the Hanged Man." He admitted sheepishly. "I figured if you wanted to be found, you'd just come back. You can take care of yourself just fine, I didn't see the need to worry," His blue eyes flickered to the bandage on her arm, uncertainty crossing his face for a split second. "_Are_ you all right?"

Shrugging, she fetched her daggers. "Just a few idiots this morning deciding that today was a good day to die," Wiping them clean, Payton finally stopped moving. "The money for the trip is ready,"

"You going to the dwarf?"

Nodding, Payton secured the coins to her belt. "I have a few other things I need to do as well. I'll need everyone to meet me at the Hanged Man tonight after evening meal," She fished a piece of scrap paper out and jotted a quick note for her mother. "Would you like to join me in my talks with Varric and Bartrand, play messenger boy, or piss off and meet up later?"

"Piss off, to be honest," Carver said with a chuckle. "No, I'll come with you. That way if we run into mother I can tell her I found you,"

"You weren't even looking,"

Carver spun in a circle and then grinned. "I found you," he declared.

Rolling her eyes, she punched his arm. "Wonderful, you'd make a perfect mabari. Poor Mutt will be so disappointed you bumped him from tracker,"

"He didn't do so great of a job in finding you either," Carver pointed out as she headed for the door.

Giving him a glib smile, she winked. "I told him to stay with mother and keep her safe. Until I tell him otherwise, that's the only order he's going to follow,"

Carver's jaw dropped and his mouth moved like he was trying to form words. Finally he huffed, an irritated look crossing his face. "Damn dog, too smart for his own good I tell you," he stalked out of the shack.

Payton paused for a brief moment, hand on the knob, mind flashing to when she left Fenris'; his words echoing. _"Don't bother coming back,"_ Her hand shook. Blinking rapidly, she gave her head a firm shake. Carver was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. She had things to do.

Taking a deep breath, she quickly buried the emotion stirring in her chest. She could do this; pretend like there was nothing wrong.


	10. Chapter 10 Night Five

**AN**: Happy Valentine's Day/Single Awareness Day/Day the World Explodes with Pink, Red, and White! Thanks for all the reviews! I never believed I would get this many people reading! Reviews and favorites feed an author's soul :D Anywhos, this is the final chapter on my first ever multiple chapter DragonAge fanfiction. Please tell me how I did :D

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_Night Five_

The sun was setting in the sky and Fenris was in an alley, pacing back and forth; every so often glancing toward the door to the Hanged Man. He had spent the better part of the day searching for Hawke. Combing Lowtown, Hightown, the Docks, the Undercity, he even went to the Chantry and Keep, desperate to find her. Hours it took him to come up as empty as he had been when he started.

It had been late afternoon when he finally given up; sharp hunger pains and lack of success sending him trudging back to his stolen estate. Luck or the grace of the Maker, Fenris would happily attribute it to either when he ran into the small errand boy; he was one of Varric's urchins and the boy delivered a message about a meeting tonight at the Hanged Man to decide on details for the Deep Roads.

Hope had flared in him. He would go early and catch her, pull her aside and talk to her. Tell her he didn't mean what he had said. Only that wasn't what happened.

Fenris turned sharply on his heel, glowering at the door as though it had been the one to offend him. He had been there for over an hour, watching for her, waiting. The other people she traipsed with trailed in, Aveline first followed by Isabela and the blood mage. Shortly after that the abomination arrived.

When she came into sight she was walking beside her brother. He was talking, or ranting as it seemed, about something. Her head was bowed, listening mutely. She wore armor he had never seen before; unusually dark leather that fit her perfectly. Her hair was back in the braid, twisted up and out of her way.

Somehow seeing this caused him to freeze.

Fenris had started forward, started to go to her, to talk with her but something in him stilled. He ducked into the alley when she looked in his direction, pausing before going into the Hanged Man.

What possessed him to hide?

All he had wanted to do all day was speak with her and now he had let the opportunity pass him by.

Growling, Fenris spun on his heel. Questions plagued his mind. How was he to explain? How could he ask forgiveness for his temper? What would he do if she did not forgive him? What would he do if she told him to leave?

Why did it matter what she thought? She was nothing to him. Even as he thought it, he knew it was a lie. How did this rogue have such a hold on him? He wanted desperately to go in just as much he wanted to flee. Part of him reasoned that he should, turn and leave Kirkwall, leave all this struggle, these unfamiliar feelings behind. He had survived well enough on his own before, he didn't see why he couldn't do it now.

"Venhedis," he cursed.

He was no coward.

That thought alone pushed past the fear that was pulsing through him. Marching toward the Hanged Man, Fenris pulled open the door. She was holding a meeting for who would go to the Deep Roads; perhaps he could just slip in, show her that he wasn't leaving, that he wasn't going anywhere; perhaps that would be enough.

Climbing the stairs, Fenris stalled outside the door to Varric's room; loud sounds of chatter wafted from within.

"I'm fine, Anders," Hawke's voice sounded closer to the door. Hints of irritation colored her tone. "It's just a scrape,"

"It won't take a minute," the abomination tried to insist.

"So help me, if you come near me again, I will chop off your fingers and feed them to you!" she snapped causing a smile to creep across Fenris' face. "Sit back down,"

Scrape? Fenris reared slightly. Hawke was injured?

"Where were we?" Hawke seemed flustered.

"You were asking if any of wanted to go to the Deep Roads." The lilt of the Dalish witch's brogue rang out.

"Thank you, Merrill. As I was saying, anyone who—Carver, shut your mouth, I already know you want to come."

"Shouldn't we be waiting for Broody before we decide?" Varric asked.

For a moment Hawke didn't answer. Fenris took a step toward the door and then hesitated again.

"I don't think he'll be coming," Hawke finally answered.

"He's lucky he wasn't arrested today," Aveline barked.

"Arrested?" Hawke mirrored his own thoughts.

"I had no less than five reports of a wild elf with a greatsword tearing through Hightown, storming the Chantry, barreling through the Keep. I don't know what his problem was, but he has got to learn to be more discreet."

"Did something happen, sister?" Carver asked. "What makes you think he won't come?"

"Nothing happened." Hawke's voice was emotionless.

Fenris took a step back. What happened didn't even affect her? The idea of turning and leaving was flitting across his mind.

"Ooo, I see a blush." Isabela cooed. "I think you're lying,"

He stopped.

"Whether I am or not is none of your business. If we can just get back on—"

"Why would Hawke lie?" Merrill asked innocently.

"Well she did disappear for a few days," He could picture Isabela wagging her eyebrows, implying all sorts of lurid things with simple gestures.

"People plea—"

"Not everyone is you, whore." Aveline bit. "Some people have perfectly legitimate things to get done, none of which requires a bed,"

"I know how to do plenty of things without a bed, I'll have you know," Isabela purred.

"Guys—"

"And somehow they're all the same, aren't they? You bent over with a man above you,"

"At least I have men, man-hands."

"A sovereign on Rivaini to win," Varric's voice could barely be heard over the two arguing women.

"No bet," Anders responded.

"Hello! Does anyone—"

"I feel like I'm missing something," Merrill said happily. "Is it dirty again?"

"Not when it comes to man-hands, kitten," Isabela retorted.

Before he realized what he was doing, Fenris moved forward. Standing in the doorway, he stared at the antics in the room. The group of people Hawke called friends was gathered around the table.

Aveline and Isabela were on their feet, shouting across the table at each other. Varric was at the end of the table, leaning back in his chair amused with the abomination near him; conspiratorial whispers passing between them. Merrill was near Isabela, completely entertained by the show while Carver had forgone a seat and was leaning stoically against the wall, arms crossed.

Hawke was standing closest to the door, her back to him, shaking her head, still trying to reign the eclectic group in. "Does anyone care that we're leaving the day after tomorrow?"

"Slattern!" Aveline growled.

"Ooo, man-hands has learned a new word, I'm all aquiver,"

"You," the red-haired woman clenched her fists.

"Is this how you soften all your dates up or am I special?"

"Elf!" Varric boomed causing Fenris to jerk slightly, unprepared to have attention called to him. "Was wondering when you'd show,"

Fenris looked at Hawke, hoping for some sign of...what? Acknowledgement? He wasn't sure what he was looking for. At Varric's bellow, Hawke's shoulders stiffened. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, not moving.

"Pull up a seat," Varric waved his hand toward any of the empty chairs along the table, barely audible over the two women bickering. "This may take a while,"

Removing his greatsword so he could sit, Fenris felt his heart catch in his throat when Hawke finally faced him. Her face was drawn, pale even. His eyes darted to a white cloth on her arm. When could she have been hurt? Were there more injuries she was hiding?

"All right, that's it!" Hawke grabbed one of the many smaller knives she carried and threw it on the table, embedding it in the space between Isabela and Aveline. The two women stopped and looked sharply at Hawke. "I'm in no mood to listen to the two of you argue, so let's get this done and then you both can go and beat the crap out of each other for all I care,"

Aveline looked suitably embarrassed while Isabela pouted as though Payton had just taken away her favorite toy.

"Varric, how long did you say we would be gone again?"

"For a couple weeks at least, maybe longer." The dwarf answered readily.

Hawke nodded, looking at each of the people in the room except Fenris. "Some of you have responsibilities that the rest of us don't," She gave a pointed glance at Aveline and Anders.

"If you need me, Hawke, you know I am there but," Aveline wavered. "I hesitate to leave the city for so long. You can take care of yourself, the city, as it seems, cannot,"

An accepting smile was on Hawke's face as she gave the woman a nod but Fenris could see it did not reach her eyes. "I understand, Aveline. Go," she waved her hand at the woman. "Go play Guard and kick the bad guys' assess for me while I'm gone,"

Aveline looked intently at the rogue. "See me before you leave?"

"What about the rest of you?" Hawke asked. "I won't make any of you go if you really don't want to. The trip will be long and fighting darkspawn is no picnic."

"Can you have a picnic with darkspawn? Do they eat?" Merrill asked.

"What a fabulous plan," Isabela clapped. "We'll distract them with tasty food,"

"Maybe that's why they attack all the time, they're hungry."

Fenris watched Hawke rub her head, the stress written clearly on her face. After several more minutes of hearing how Isabela and Merrill planned to feed the darkspawn, Hawke finally snapped.

"People, back on topic!" Hawke closed her eyes. "Anyone who wants to or thinks they can take the time to come along, stay and we'll discuss the details. The rest of you," She pointed to the door. "I've paid for a round of the good stuff with Corff; he knows you," She waved her hand. "Go, fetch, enjoy. And Isabela don't you dare try to convince him to put more on my tab,"

Isabela pouted. "Come on, kitten." The pirate stood, tugging on Merrill's arm. "I'll teach you how to charm two pints for the price of one out of men." Isabela dragged the Dalish elf out, winking at Fenris as she went, giving her hips a sultry sashay.

Aveline stood. "If you need me," was all she said before sweeping out.

Anders looked sullen but stayed in his seat. "I don't want to go," he announced as though it was something to be proud of. "But," the abomination looked at her. "I don't want you in the Deep Roads without help."

"Hey, she'll have me." Varric objected.

"And me," Carver chimed.

"I don't know who I'll have," Hawke quickly retorted, earning her a glare from her younger brother. "I appreciate the thought, Anders."

The look the mage gave her made Fenris' blood boil. Weeks alone underground with the abomination, he loathed the idea.

Her eyes drifted toward him, for the first time since he came in, she looked at him. Her eyes were guarded, her face emotionless. It was wrong, he decided, seeing nothing expressed there. The entire time he had known her, the woman's thoughts and emotions could be read but now there was nothing.

Abruptly she turned. "I'll inform you of my decision in the morning,"

"Sister," Carver straightened, taking a step toward her.

"Carver, I'll think about it." Hawke's voice sounded weary. "You know what it would do to mother if something happened to you down there." Her head bowed. "She still hasn't forgiven me for Bethany. How long do you think it would take her to forgive me if she lost you as well?"

"Longer if she let you go and you died without your trusty brother at your side,"

"You hate being at my side." She retorted.

"I hate being in your shadow not at your side." Carver stated. "Let me go if only to keep you safe." A cheeky grin that mirrored the one his sister often had spread on his lips. "Besides, when have you ever done anything just to please mother. Don't start now,"

"I'll think about it," was all she said. Yanking the knife she had thrown out of the middle of the table, Hawke slid it back into the sheath on her thigh. She gave a curt nod to the dwarf and turned toward the door. There was a slightest bit of hesitation; her blue eyes lingered on Fenris for a moment before she left.

Something in him ached at the look she had given him. Empty, guarded, it was wrong sitting on her face.

"How about that ale?" Varric asked turning to Anders. "Will Justice let you drink?"

Fenris stood abruptly, securing his greatsword to his back.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Justice doesn't control me." Anders complained.

Without a word, Fenris walked out of the room, barely aware of the eyes glued to his retreating form. He reached the bottom of the stairs, catching sight of Hawke just as she left the building. Part of him had hoped that just being there would show her, that somehow she would just know that he was sorry for his words; for his actions; only that hadn't been the look on her face.

Dusk was settling on the district as he burst out the door. Fenris glanced down each of the three paths she could take. Would she have headed to Gamlen's shack? Could she have gone to Hightown? The roof of the building at the docks that she had showed him?

His heart pounded in his chest. At random he picked a direction, hurrying down the path. Halfway toward the docks he heard the sound of battle. Mind flashing to the wounds he had already seen on Hawke he panicked. Barreling toward the noise, he drew his weapon.

Hawke was fighting a sword-for-hire, his longsword bearing down against her twin daggers. In a fluid movement she parried another man's attack, backing up with her weapons blocking the two men's swords.

"Still fighting, little bird?" cooed a man with a crooked nose.

She shot the man a grin that Fenris recognized immediately. Hawke threw herself forward, cartwheeling over the blades pointed at her. Swiftly she stabbed one of the men through the chest, ducking as the other attacked. In one fatal movement, he stumbled, allowing Payton's dagger to gut him.

"GET HER!" Broken Nose shouted and five more men dropped from rooftops.

Throwing himself into the battle, Fenris slammed into one of the men who cornered her. With the ease they had learned over two weeks of battling together, they flowed. Her fast flurries, his brutal blows, they were a deadly combination.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Broken Nose start to run, realizing winning was impossible. In a spinning leap Hawke moved, the dagger from her thigh holster out and thrown before he could react. The man let out a gurgling sound, the knife impaled in his throat. Without pause, she attacked the next man. One by one the men dropped.

Just as the last men collapsed on the ground, his heart outside his chest, Hawke spun toward Fenris, her daggers posed up, readying for an attack. Then she froze, realizing the only live people in the alley were the two of them. Unmoving, she looked at him somewhere in the vicinity of his chest, breathing heavily.

It felt like eternity, her standing there, staring at him. Suddenly Payton moved, sliding the weapons into their holsters on her back. She walked over to the man who had seemed to lead the group, kneeling down. Her eyes lingered for a moment and then she shook her head, yanking her dagger out, wiping it on the man's clothing before sliding it back into its sheath.

She straightened and took a step toward the way out of the alley but stopped, indecision hovering around her. Her head turned back ever so slightly as though to look at him but not finishing the movement.

He waited for her to speak, to face him, to leave, to do something but she didn't. Stepping forward, Fenris acted. "Hawke,"

She didn't move; her breaths audible.

"What I said," Fenris hesitated. "Earlier," he needlessly elaborated. "I acted out of anger," the excuse sounded inadequate. "I said things I did not mean."

The silence was more torturous than if she had yelled at him, ranted, even if she had attacked him. But she didn't. She wouldn't even look at him.

"I am sorry."

Her head bowed.

"Hawke," his heart ached as he took a step toward her.

Why this rogue mattered to him so much, Fenris did not know but the idea of her believing his thoughtless words of anger, the idea of her leaving for the Deep Roads thinking he wanted nothing to do with her.

"Payton,"

The sound of her given name caused her to look back at him sharply. He saw the pain radiating in her eyes, the fear, the uncertainty. Had he been the cause of that? Had he put those emotions there? In the two weeks he had known her, Fenris had never seen her uncertain of anything; anger, confused, frustrated, even anxious but never this trepidation.

"I am sorry," Fenris repeated taking another step toward her. "I took my anger out on you, undeservedly."

She said nothing, only looked at him.

Fenris ducked his head, trying to hide from the truth. "I thought you were mocking me, planning to hurt me." His words were almost too soft to be heard.

"By holding you while you slept?" her voice was emotionless as though she was saying nothing more than a simple fact.

He closed his eyes in shame. Hawke had never been vindictive; to assume her such had been unworthy of her. How could he explain why he reacted the way he did? How could he tell her that for a little while he thought her no different than the people who hurt him?

When he had learned she had invaded his privacy, seen him have nightmares Fenris had been ashamed, terrified that somehow she knew the contents; somehow she knew the duties that Danarius had him preform, the duties that haunted him. He had lashed out at her, fearful that she wanted to use him like that, to force him.

"I'm not him, Fenris."

Her declaration caused the elf to jerk, looking into her vivid blue eyes that seemed to glow in the twilight.

"I'm not Danarius."

He flinched.

"I will never take pleasure in someone's pain. I will never use you or toy with you," Each statement rang with truth and promise. "Your past, the pain, the people, I won't pretend that I know or can even begin to comprehend it all. But don't put me in that category, don't put me with him." Emotion was seeping back into her voice and her face. "I would never intentionally hurt you, Fenris."

He bowed his head, unable to grasp why, beyond all reason, he believed her.

"When I stayed with you during the night it wasn't because I was seeking to exploit you. It was because it calmed your sleep, it gave you a few moments of reprieve from the memories that dog your every move," Payton vacillated. "I know in your life that you can't remember a time when someone touched you without the intent to harm. Because of that I understand how threatening you found my actions,"

She understood. Tension began uncoiling in him. She understood.

"But the world isn't black and white, Fenris." Hawke said softly. "There is no easy way to distinguish good guys from bad; no simple formula."

Fenris looked sideways at her.

"My father saved the lives of a school house once; twenty children rescued when a fire trapped them. Bethany trained with the medic and used her powers for healing; she saved a man his leg when he walked into a bear trap, a group of miners owe my sister their lives because she used magic to dig them out after a mine collapse. Anders has saved the lives of hundreds of refuges, hundreds of people who no one in this damned city seems to care about." She paused. "All those lives saved, all the people they helped, all the difference they made, you condemn in your world without mages."

His mind turned over her words.

"Mages have the ability to do great evil," Her eyes dropped to the death around them. "But so do I," Fenris followed her gaze. "So do any of us," She shook her head. "Do not hold all mages responsible for the actions of some,"

His thoughts blazed for a moment. "It doesn't take all mages, only the weak ones." He spat. "The moment mages are left to govern themselves, they make themselves magisters."

"My father didn't." she stated firmly. "Bethany didn't."

Fenris glowered, looking away from her.

"You can't push people into categories and say that it works. All blood is red but not all red things are blood," she challenged. "Normal people kill and hurt just as much as mages can."

"Normal people do not attract demons that try to possess them,"

"And that makes it right to kill thousands of people? Because that's what you said you wanted, mages to be wiped from existence." Her biting retort caused him to still. "There are mages who go their whole lives without falling prey to a demon. Many of them, in fact,"

Fenris shifted uncomfortably.

"If you could, would you raise an army and march on the Circles? Root out every mage and apostate, try and remove magic from Thedas?" Hawke asked quietly.

He frowned, unwilling to admit the merit in the idea.

"You are aware that also means tracing lineages and insuring that no one who ever spawned a mage could produce a child again for chance it would have magic. Only there is no guarantee that would work as magic has popped up in families with no history of it before," She said. "Magic is a part of the world, Fenris. Whether you count it a curse or a blessing, it's as much a part of Thedas as elves or dwarves, humans or qunari."

"What do you want me to say, Hawke?" Fenris asked painfully. He was stunned to see the glimmer of tears shining in her eyes.

"I want you to say that I wasn't a mistake!" emotion burst out of her. She looked down, almost ashamed. Her voice dropped. "I want you to tell me that my father's life meant something to you, even in an abstract way."

He stared at her not understanding.

Swallowing hard, she met his eyes. "In your idea of a perfect world he would be dead and I never would have been born,"

Fenris felt something in him jolt. Did she really think he wished she had never been born?

Taking a step toward her, he started in a low voice. "I did not know your father, Hawke. I will never be able to judge what manner of mage he was," He took another step toward her, tugging the red ribbon out. "But I know this; he was a man who fought for what he believed in and for what he wanted. He raised you to do the same. No matter my feelings toward magic, I could never regret that."

She looked at the ribbon, recognizing it instantly. Her lips parted in surprise and she reached for it. When she started to pull it away, he stopped her, their fingers tangling, the red ribbon between them.

"Forgive me," he implored staring intently at her.

Her breath caught at the contact, gaze frozen on their interlocked hands.

"Hawke." Fenris whispered.

She didn't move.

"Payton,"

Her eyes shot to his face.

"Forgive me," Fenris repeated.

Slowly she nodded. The relief that flooded him was nearly palpable. She forgave him. The words caused something in him to soar as though a heavy weight had been lifted. Warmth spread through him. It was strange; an overwhelming feeling of peace, serenity almost; as though the knowledge of her forgiveness had touched something deep inside him.

"I should go," she said softly after a moment. "I have a trip to get ready for,"

Unintentionally, Fenris tightened his grip on her hand, preventing her from pulling away. "Hawke," he hesitated. He was somewhat unsure why he stopped her, why he was unwilling to let her go.

Payton peered at him.

"My blade is yours should you require it,"

A smile blossomed on her face, lighting up her eyes. It was worth it, Fenris decided. The risks, the dangers, the problems; it was worth it. For that smile, it was worth anything.


End file.
